Kinetic
by Electric Smile
Summary: As requested, a companion fic to 'Potential'. Chun-Li has an unusual problem on her hands in the form of a desperately confused Vega, who claims he's not who she says he is. She's determined to get to the bottom of what she assumes to be a bizarre ploy on Shadaloo's part. Is he lying, or is truth really sometimes stranger than fiction?
1. Chapter 1

The snow was nice. It fell softly, tickled her face, melted when it touched her skin. True, it would get old after a while. Winters could overstay their welcome sometimes. But for now, with the relative newness of it, she could enjoy it. It looked best at night, those fuzzy little specks becoming shadows under the light of a street lamp. It was cold, of course, but she liked winter clothes. She liked the warmth of a hot chocolate in her gloved hand as she walked down 5th avenue, the steel and concrete towers of the city to her right, the empty branches and snow-covered fields of Central Park on her left. Maybe for some people, this time of year was difficult. The holidays were over, and they felt there wasn't much to look forward to. It never got to her, though.

It'd been awhile since she'd been back to New York. She'd lived here for awhile, for her work, and had enjoyed it. Up until the end, at least. But she couldn't blame that part on the city. The attempt on her life by Shadaloo just told her she was getting somewhere-they wouldn't try to kill someone they didn't feel threatened by. And even though it'd been a close call, she'd survived it, and had to focus on that. But that had been years ago. She'd since moved back to China, and was here at the request of Interpol again. They had a lead on some organized criminal activity taking place in the city. Something about an anonymous tip on a big hit that was supposed to be going down. She hadn't gotten all the details yet, having just arrived that day. It may or may not have involved members of Shadaloo, so it'd gotten her attention and she'd work as hard as usual on it. Shadaloo had a lot of rivals in various illicit markets-drugs, arms, contract killings. From time to time, those rivalries exploded in a horrific fashion, usually leaving a lot of people dead. It didn't please her any, to see people die. That wasn't what she was after. She wanted these people to be brought to justice, not death.

She could have sworn she'd heard someone call her name. Glancing around, she didn't spot anyone she recognized, or see anyone really looking at her. But then, the streets of New York were noisy, and she knew it was one of the more curious properties of the human brain to look for familiar patterns in such chaos. She wasn't too concerned over it, and kept walking towards her hotel. She'd had a busy day, full of traveling, and was ready to unwind. Walking along the streets, she took mental note of a few places she might enjoy checking out later in the evening. Maybe for dinner, or a drink or two.

Her room was on the fourth floor, not terribly high up, so she didn't see any good reason to wait on an elevator. By the time it came, she could be halfway to her room, and that bed sounded more appealing than ever. The bags she carried weren't all that heavy. Setting one of them at her feet, she searched for her room key in her purse. There was the distinct feeling of a pair of eyes on her, but it didn't cause her panic or grief. It wasn't unusual to feel like she was being looked at. It happened pretty often, really. She kept aware, however. There was nothing wrong with being cautious, especially when there were a lot of criminals who knew her name and face.

She pushed her door open, and stopped by the closet to stash her bags. It struck her then that she didn't hear her door close, and she tensed. The door was obscured from her view, as she'd leaned into the closet to set her things down. A lapse in judgement, maybe, on her part. She should've paid more attention to whoever had been looking at her in the hallway. There was the feeling of another presence in the room, and slowly, she backed out of the closet, her heart beating a little faster. She heard the door finally click shut.

"When did my hair get-"

She didn't think, just acted, her foot meeting the back of the intruder's skull. He'd been facing the door as he'd turned to close it behind him, and the force of her blow sent him face first into the merciless surface. There was a loud thud when he made contact, and then another when he dropped to the floor. She blinked, not really expecting that. Vega, she thought, generally reacted quicker, and she was tensed and ready for a tough fight. But no, he was out like a light. Maybe it was a trick. He certainly wasn't this easy to take out. She kept her stance, waiting for him to move.

But he didn't, and she was beginning to feel silly standing there like that. She had to know he wasn't faking, though. That he wasn't waiting for her to crouch down and take a better look at him so he'd catch her off guard. "You're ugly," she blurted out, heart still pumping a little too fast to come up with something more articulate.

Not even a twitch. Maybe he had more self-control than she thought. Or maybe he really was out cold.

"I'm going to kick you in the face," she added. Still nothing. What was the deal? Why had he turned his back to her instead of attacking her while hers was turned? How had he not reacted quicker? He hadn't even tried to block her kick. Why was he following her to begin with? She pressed her lips together at that last question. Did she really want to know the answer to that one? Cautiously, she crept towards him. One of his arms was underneath him, the other beside his head. She put her foot on it at the wrist and applied pressure. He could still reach her with his legs, but at least his arms would be taken care of. She bent slightly, reaching down to move his hair aside and see that his eyes were, in fact, closed. She smacked him once. Very lightly, she knew it wouldn't take much to get him angry. He didn't respond at all. He was definitely, really unconscious.

So what did she do with him now? She stood up straight, and stepped away from him. Did she call the police? She didn't have the evidence to out him as a member of Shadaloo, and the threat of a defamation suit was too much of a risk. She could say he'd attacked her, maybe. It was a lie, but only because she hadn't given him a chance. Now her curiosity was piqued, and he had her interest. She needed to know why he was after her, and if she had more threats coming. Maybe she'd be able to make him barter information on Shadaloo in exchange for his freedom. Was he willing to turn on Bison like that? She tried to imagine what she thought was more frightening, a lifetime in prison or telling a supernaturally-powered megalomaniac that you may have let slip a thing or two about his paramilitary terrorist organization. At least in prison, death was not a certainty in this scenario.

Quickly, before he could wake back up, she strode over to the other side of the room. On the dresser still was her bag of work-related clothes and items. Her more professional outfits were in there, along with case files, her own notes, and a pair of handcuffs. With the cuffs in hand, she went back over to him, and took a hold of his legs. She knew it wasn't wise to move someone who'd fallen unconscious, but she couldn't risk letting him wake up without restraining him first. He'd either sneak away or finish the attack she'd cut short. The bathroom would work fine enough. She dragged him in, propped him up against the tub, and cuffed his arms to the support handle on the wall. His head dropped forward, he almost fell over, and she pushed him up again. Now his head lolled back, and she figured that was good enough. She patted over his pockets, and took his phone. If he called the cops, it could cause a mess. And if he called on Shadaloo, it could be much worse. She left him in there and closed the door.

Of course she looked at his phone. And of course it required a pin to unlock. She studied the screen carefully, trying to find a pattern in the various fingerprints and smudges on its surface. It was useless, given how many there were. She tried his birthday, something she knew from her research on him. First the month and day. Nothing. Then the year. Nothing. He wasn't that careless. She left it alone on the nightstand beside the bed. Shadaloo was very thorough and protective of their higher-ups. It was unlikely she'd find anything useful in forming a case against him, anyway.

That left her with the question of why he'd followed her here. She knew he had a special sort of hatred for her, beyond the sort of disdain for law enforcement his line of work practically required. It didn't bother her any because she despised him all the same. The only person she could think of that she hated more was Bison himself. Vega had nearly killed her once, several years ago. Before that, he'd just been a name on some papers at work, and she hadn't thought much of him. Of course a Shadaloo assassin was bound to be good at their job. Bison was very discerning, and didn't waste his time on people who he thought would screw things up for him. So she knew he was deadly. She just didn't know how vicious he was until she was fighting for her life in her apartment. She still had nightmares about that evening, sometimes. Of a vague sense of dread at the sudden realization that she no longer _felt _like she was alone. At the sight of those razor-sharp claws and the white mask, knowing exactly who he was and what it meant that he was in her apartment. The physical wounds hurt of course, but memories of the situation emphasized the emotions much more-the fear, the dread, the panic. He would've killed her if she hadn't knocked his mask off and angered him. It gave her enough of an opening to send him through the window. She remembered being a little stunned that she'd kicked him hard enough to accomplish that because windows don't break _that _easily. For a brief moment she still felt panic, that she'd just killed someone. In her line of work, she fought a lot of people, even had to fire guns on them sometimes, but she'd never killed anyone.

But, of course, months later, he resurfaced, having been reported as the prime suspect in a massacre that left twelve members of a rival arms dealing group dead. A surviving eye witness gave the description, and Chun-Li could still remember the way her heart dropped. How did someone survive a fall like that? And if they did, how were they able to walk, let alone carry out an operation like that? She thought at first, maybe Bison had hired a replacement who happened to look similar. But eventually, she saw him herself. And he knew, too, that she was shocked, because she remembered the way they locked eyes just before he launched himself from the roof of the building to an adjacent one. The way his normally cold eyes held a hint of mischievousness, as if to ask her, '_did you miss me?'_ Whatever had resulted in saving his life, she cursed it. But then, if she was being honest with herself, she knew the answer. Bison was capable of so many things that even the rest of the world's most advanced scientists didn't have a handle on yet. Vega must've remained alive long enough to be recovered and returned to health at Shadaloo. Things like that made it feel like a hopeless fight, sometimes. That no matter how hard you knocked them down, they'd always get back up. She tried not to let it deter her.

A noise from the bathroom brought her attention back to the present. Someone shuffling around. A muffled groan. Her heart began beating a little faster. She didn't relish the idea of speaking with him. He knew how to press her buttons, how to make her uncomfortable, and he'd do it, too, if it meant getting away from her. For all of the foul or perverse things he might hint at or say-and in such a polite voice, heightening the discomfort caused by the words-she knew he hated her just as much as she hated him. But she couldn't let him get the better of her, and she couldn't let him just go on his merry way to kill someone else. She quickly went back over to the door, and pressed her ear against it. "What..." she heard him mumble, and the metal of the cuffs clanged a little against the handle they were locked on to. "Hey." She waited further, unsure just yet of what to say to him. "Um, I'm sorry I scared you, but I think this is a little bit of an extreme reaction. Maybe."

She narrowed her eyes. Was it the barrier of the door that made his voice sound different? Like his accent was thicker than normal? And that he sounded less pretentious?

"Why is my hair so long all of a sudden?"

Her lips came together as her face contorted with confusion. What kind of question was that? How hard had she knocked his head against that door? The realization that she may have given him a concussion came to her, and she sighed. How useful could he be if he was this confused?

"Are you going to let me out of here? What's going on?"

Finally, she found her voice, and said, "I thought maybe you could answer that for me."

"Ah...hm-what? I'm so confused right now..." Where was his fervor? His hatred of her? Where were threats on her life and sick, twisted descriptions of what he'd do to her when he caught her? He was trying to disarm her, she was sure of it.

"Why did you follow me here?" she demanded.

"Why aren't we in Chicago?" he responded. "What happened to the apartment?"

Now she drew back away from the door. What was he playing at? Or had she really given him some kind of brain damage? "What are you talking about?" she challenged.

"Wha-" She heard him moving around. "Eh, I upset you? Can we talk about this? I'm really so confused."

He sounded convincing, but then again, he was a great actor. You didn't get to lead a night life as sinister as his if you weren't. "Nice try, Vega, but I'm not letting you out of here until you tell me what you're up to." Maybe that would have to change though, given his confusion and previous state of unconsciousness. She was beginning to think it might be necessary to take him to a hospital. At least then, she could confirm whether all of this was just some ploy to get her to let her guard down, or an actual medical issue. She couldn't let him go alone though. Couldn't risk losing him. She sighed heavily. Was this really how she was going to spend her evening, babysitting a serial killer?

"Who is Vega? What is wrong with you? _Why _am I handcuffed to a shower?"

Slowly, she pushed open the door. Her lips were just a bit parted, and she was clearly confounded by his behavior. He looked up immediately, and it was like she was looking at another person. That dangerous glint in his eyes she was so used to seeing was gone, replaced by desperation. The usually cold and passive expression was completely absent. "What do you mean, 'who is Vega'?" she asked, looking him in the eye.

"You called me Vega. I think." His brows turned upward. "Can you let this off of me?" He shook his hands, metal clanging against metal.

"Who are you, if you aren't Vega?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"Andrés. You know me...Are you okay?" His voice was so full of concern, something she'd never heard from him before. There was no icy edge to his tone, no pretentious or flowery language. He sounded nothing like himself.

"Who am I to you?" she demanded. He seemed to think he knew her, that he was on friendly terms with her or something.

"We've been dating for five years now," he said, almost approaching indignant. But that tone of concern was still there.

"No!" she shouted upon hearing that. Had he snapped? Snapped _further, _she supposed, was a better way to put it. Was he stalking her, pretending to be her lover? In that moment, she couldn't think of a more horrifying notion than being in an amorous relationship with a terrorist assassin/psychopath. Her sudden, loud response made him jump, and his eyes went wide. He looked like a puppy who'd just been scolded.

"I-ah...wow, what a reaction," he said quietly, turning his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry, but please, can't we talk about it?"

"Oh my God," she huffed, and turned away, slamming the door behind her. She couldn't do it. Couldn't face him like that. It was too bizarre. It was his most unusual act yet, and she wasn't about to fall for it. Unless he had really gone completely insane and was now convinced they were a couple. Never in her life would that be a true statement. He could be the last man on Earth, and it wouldn't happen. He could be ready to save her from certain death with that one condition standing between herself and salvation, and she'd rather spit in his face.

"I can't figure out how to fix this if you won't even tell me what I did wrong!" he called out. She was unsure of what to do with him now. Could she afford to let him go without figuring out what he was here for? Why he'd followed her? It was technically kidnapping, and she could get in a lot of trouble over it. She had no good reason to arrest him-at least, not one that she had enough evidence to prove. No, she couldn't let him go. He was a good actor, but he didn't have an infinite amount of patience. Eventually he'd show his true colors, and she'd get what she wanted from him. Maybe, though, she _did _need to get his head checked out, to be sure this wasn't all a result of an injury.

Suddenly, she heard him say something that she thought might have been in Mandarin, and it startled her. As far as she knew, he didn't speak Chinese. What was his angle here? Had she really heard that?

She pushed open the door again, eyes fierce and staring him down to show she wasn't afraid of him. "What did you say?" she asked sharply.

He repeated it, though some of the intonations were off. "Pretty spring girl..." he said, and his cheeks turned a little red. She'd never seen him blush before. If anything, he was usually making _her _blush by making some graphic references to his exploits because he knew they made her uncomfortable.

"Why did you say that?" she snapped. "And it's said like this." She pronounced the words the way they were meant to be said, although, it was still nonsensical.

"I can never get it right," he muttered.

"Why did you say it to begin with?"

He looked completely defeated. These expressions on his face were something unusual. He had three settings, so far as she knew-confident, condescendingly amused, and psychotic. "It's a joke..." he said. "When I tried to write you a letter in Mandarin, to ask you out on a date." She wrinkled her nose, almost instinctively, at the prospect of being asked out by him. "And I messed a lot of it up. I remember mixing up the characters for 'heaven' and 'big', and you thought I might have been implying you were fat."

Her face burned red for a moment. "I'm not!" she snapped.

"I know," he responded. "You look beautiful." Her pulse quickened a little at the soft way he'd said that, and she tried to ignore it. So what if he'd gotten pretty convincing at faking sincerity? He was a monster, even if he could act like he wasn't. And maybe that was the reason he was a much worse monster than the average.

"How hard did I hit you?" she muttered. She took a step towards him, and stopped suddenly. His legs were still a threat, even if his arms were cuffed. "Get in the tub," she ordered.

"What? Why are you acting like this?" he griped.

"Do it, so I can look at your pupils."

"What do you think I'm going to do?" he wondered, still pretending to be completely dumbfounded. It was really starting to annoy her.

"Don't play stupid, I'm not falling for it," she said. "Get in the tub."

He sighed, some kind of agitation finally showing. He winced a little at the awkward way his arms were held behind him. It was almost impossible to do what she'd asked, and was a little painful, but he managed it. She thought he'd have a harder time bringing his legs up to reach her this way, and would have less traction on the porcelain surface. She stepped closer, and sat on the closed toilet. "Why are we in New York, anyway?" he asked.

She ignored him at first, turning his face towards her cautiously. She thought, this would be it. This would send him into rabid, psycho overdrive, her touching his face. But no, he sat patiently, eyes occasionally flicking away as she tried to study them before settling back on hers. They seemed normal and focused, but his behavior was still all wrong. She let go of him and sat up. "You don't know why you're here?" she asked. Memory loss could be indication of a problem, she realized. But then, so was all of this confusion, and she'd already noted that.

"No. I thought we were at home. You went to the store. I went to sleep..." he said, squinting a little as he thought. "I remember getting up to take a shower. I don't remember coming to New York."

"Why do you think we were in Chicago together?" she asked. She didn't see how that made any sense, even if his reasoning was to try to get her to relax around him.

"I was hired by a university there," he said, and that desperation was creeping back into his voice. "Don't you remember? What's going on?"

"Hired to do what?" she said. What a school wanted with a bullfighter or murderer was beyond her.

"To teach!" he answered, almost shouting it at her like it should be obvious. "Why can't you remember anything? _Why_ is my hair like this?"

She pressed her lips together. Maybe it was best to be direct. To not play along, to not let him think he was fooling her. "Look, just level with me. You know I can't arrest you. You know that I know you're playing a game. So just come out with it already. Who are you here to kill?"

His eyes flew wide at the question. "What are you talking about?!" he cried. "Kill? I can't kill someone!"

The reaction was so volatile, so instant, she almost thought it could be genuine. But she had to remember, this man was, above all else, a very convincing liar. "Right," she answered with a snort.

"_Ayyyy mi querida..._" he groaned. "What is going on? You think I _killed _somebody?"

"Think?" she echoed, a clipped, sarcastic laugh following. "Where are you staying?"

"I thought with you!"

"Don't move," she ordered, and he even seemed to hold his breath for a minute, staring at her. She felt over his pocket, it was empty. She felt the other. Also empty. She grimaced a little, and said, "Don't take this the wrong way." Her hand came around to his back pocket, and she found what she was looking for.

"You've done a lot worse than touch my butt, you know," he muttered. It was her turn to wrinkle her nose, an immediate and unstoppable reaction. He looked at what she'd taken from him, and his confusion deepened. "That's not mine, anyway. It looks kind of beyond my price range."

She turned her attention back to the wallet, and opened it. Credit card, identification card. She pulled it out, just to see if he was lying or not. And, of course, he was. The picture was plainly his, the name as well. She turned it around for his benefit. "Nice try," she said, and watched as his brows drew together.

"What?" he muttered. "That's not my name, that's not my birthday, and that's not my DNI number, either. What is this?"

She flipped it back over, and studied it. It seemed to be real to her, with the right marks of authenticity in place. She wasn't an expert on forgeries, especially not one from a foreign country, though. He seemed pretty insistent that his name wasn't Vega, and that was an interesting aspect of his act that she hadn't quite worked out yet. She ignored his questions, mostly because she couldn't answer them, and kept digging through his wallet. She found some scrap of folded up paper. She opened it, revealing what almost looked like a hastily drawn blueprint or diagram of the layout of a few rooms. Scribbled on the back, it said, "_1205B x 4, C x 6, D= fuertemente armados, peligroso, no lo intente."_

"What is this about?" she asked, holding it up to him so he could read it.

He glanced at it, then up at her. "I don't know," he answered, shrugging and shaking his head.

"What does it say?"

"I don't know what all the numbers and letters are for," he responded. "It says 'heavily armed, dangerous, don't try it'."

"Don't try what?" She turned the scrap of paper back towards herself, wondering what it might mean. Probably related to his work with Shadaloo. A plan of attack, some advice to himself. She stopped, remembering the assignment she'd been called to New York for. Could he be involved?

"How am I supposed to know? I didn't write that!"

"Why was it in your wallet?" she asked, shaking the object in question.

"I don't know if that's even mine!"

She pressed her lips together, and looked through the rest of the items. There was some cash. Another card. She tugged it out, and smirked in triumph. Just what she was looking for. A hotel key card. He was staying in the city, and this paper, unless it was old, indicated to her that he wasn't here just to visit. She began to map out a plan herself. Find the nearest hospital to make sure his brain wasn't hemorrhaging or something. A health issue meant she'd leave him alone. He wouldn't be any help then, and she couldn't justify keeping him around. If he was here to hurt anyone, and she'd given him an injury, he probably wouldn't be able to carry out his assignment. But if it turned out she hadn't hurt him, that he was faking all of this, she'd get him to talk. "Okay," she said finally. "We're going to a hospital."

"Why? Are you okay?" he asked, and she really was annoyed with his concern. Like _she _was the one with the problem here.

"Yes, but you aren't. Or, you're pretending not to be. So we're going to settle this."

He sighed heavily, plainly agitated, but not angry with her. And that annoyed her too. He was being too patient, too cooperative. "Okay, fine, if that will make you feel better. You're going to take these off of me?" He shook his wrists, indicating the handcuffs.

"Oh, you wish I were that generous," she said, cautiously undoing one of the cuffs and snapping it to her own wrist instead. He sighed, but shook out his free hand and rolled his shoulders in their sockets.

"I don't understand this. Why do you even have handcuffs anyway?"

"Save your breath. I don't believe you," she responded. "The act is getting old."

"What am I supposed to do to convince you that I'm completely confused right now?"

"Hmmm," she said, tilting her head. "Maybe-Oh, I know! Turn yourself in!"

He just sighed again, and got to his feet. She pulled the end of her sleeve over the handcuff on her wrist, and inspected her arm. It didn't look too obvious, the coat sleeve being big enough to conceal the metal cuff. Chances were, no one would be paying that much attention to their wrists anyway. She tugged on his sleeve, too, then took his hand in hers. This looked a little less conspicuous. "Don't take your hand off of mine," she ordered. "Don't make a scene, either. In fact, don't talk to anyone unless I tell you."

"Why are you acting like this?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

She ignored him. She wasn't going to play games with him, even if he wanted her to. With her hand firmly grasping his, as much as it repulsed her to touch him, she led the way out of the hotel in search of a doctor in hopes of getting some answers.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is probably going to be expensive, isn't it?" he said as they walked. She didn't want to take a cab and risk him claiming to the driver that she'd kidnapped him. Being in such close quarters as a car just seemed like a bit of a bad idea. Sure the streets were filled with people, but she wasn't stuck with any of them in a vehicle that could jet them off to the nearest police station. It'd be relatively easy for him to alarm someone by showing that they were cuffed to each other. Until they got to the hospital, she couldn't risk taking them off, or he might bolt. She was pretty fast, but he was like a gazelle. Legally, she supposed, she was a bit in the wrong here, but that was only because she didn't have the evidence to show Vega for who he really was. Her actions were just if they ended up preventing another crime, or leading to his detainment. He seemed fine on his feet, no balance issues, he could walk normally. She couldn't say she was terribly concerned with his comfort and well-being, anyway.

"Poor you," she said. "It's not like you're _rich _or anything."

"What are you saying?" he asked. Not annoyed, but confused. The bizarre, but usual, as of the past few hours.

She shot him a look, telling him she wasn't going to play along. With a nod of her head, she indicated the bank at the end of the block. There was bound to be an ATM, so she said, "Why don't we check, since you're so uncertain?"

He made a little humming noise, the corner of his lip pulling back. As they approached the bank, he finally said, "Okay. Maybe this will prove to you I'm not whoever you think I am." She led him in, not realizing what an awkward task it was to open a door while handcuffed to someone. She gave him his card back, having kept his wallet to avoid losing it, or for him to ditch it somehow so she couldn't get into his hotel room. He ran the card, staring thoughtfully at the screen as it asked for a PIN. He guessed, and it was wrong.

"Don't pretend you don't know it," she said.

"I'm not pretending," he responded defensively. He tried another, and let out a frustrated sigh. Third time, and it worked. "I haven't used that number for years." He pushed the button to display his savings. She glanced over at him, and his eyes were wide. He uttered a shocked curse in Spanish.

"Yeah, so poorly done for," she said, a hand coming up to her hip. It was the kind of wealth she could dream about, but never really see herself attaining. Not that she was driven by financial gain. The work she did was more important to her than money, and the thought of bringing Bison and his followers to justice was more motivational than any amount of cash.

"This is..." he started, then took a deep breath. "This can't be right. What I inherited from my mother was not anywhere near this-so much of it was spent on her treatment-and I didn't exactly have a lavish stipend as a student. This-" He started to bring his right hand up to run it through his hair, but met resistance. He'd forgotten his arm was cuffed to hers. "What is going on? Are you sure this is mine?"

"It's not really funny, the way you keep pretending not to know," she said. She closed the transaction, and yanked on his hand. "Come on. Let's go and get the proof that you're playing some weird game." He still seemed dazed as they left the bank, but at least she'd cut off one way for him to refuse the hospital visit. It made her a little more certain that all of this was an act. If he was looking for excuses to not get examined by a doctor, it could mean he knew she was on the right track to proving him wrong.

At the hospital, he tried again to mess things up, further impressing upon her that her first assumptions about him had been correct. She'd uncuffed them, and he hadn't run. They approached the desk, and when he was asked for his name, he responded, "Andrés Quesada Navarro." She kicked him in the shin, lightly, to get his attention. He hissed and glared at her. "What was that for?" he whispered angrily.

"That's _not _your name," she whispered back, digging out his DNI card from his wallet.

"Don't tell me what my own name is!" he said in a rushed, low voice. "This one sounds made up anyway! No one's first name is 'Vega' in Spain, and 'la Cerna'? Shouldn't it be _de _la Cerna?"

She didn't know anything about any of that. It didn't greatly concern her whether his name sounded authentic or not, and since she wasn't from his culture, she'd never been struck one way or the other about whether or not his name sounded unusual. She knew he'd try to screw things up by giving false information to the hospital, and shouldn't have trusted him to talk to anyone in the first place. She put the card on the desk, waiting for the woman to turn back around and face them. Chun-Li smiled sweetly to her. "No, he gave you the wrong name. That's why we're here," she explained, handing the ID over to her.

"Okay. Fill these out, someone will be with you in a moment," the woman said, handing back the card and a few papers.

Chun-Li took them. She wasn't going to let him fill them out. He'd just ruin that, too. "Sit here," she ordered as they approached a row of chairs, and he did. She copied information from the card, but that only answered so much. The easiest part was writing in the reason for his visit. She wrote 'head injury', and gave a brief description of how his behavior seemed abnormal. He wouldn't be able to change the story once he was alone with a doctor, at least. "Are you allergic to anything?" she asked, glancing at the impressive list of things a person could have a bad reaction to.

"Not that I know of," he answered. Then he gave a short, ironic laugh. "But what do I know? Maybe that's different, too."

She ignored him. "Are there any major illnesses that run in your family?" she asked.

"My mother had cancer..." he responded, and sounded hurt. She caught the way his head hung down after he said it. Like he expected her to know that. She wrote it in.

"Do you take any kind of medication?"

He sighed, obviously annoyed now. "You should know all of these things," he said, taking his head in his hands. "What is happening to me?" He groaned a little, ran his hands into his hair.

"Take that as a no," she mumbled under her breath, marking the box. It was as much as she could fill out, anyway. She pushed the clipboard towards him, and said, "Sign that." He sat up, glanced at the page wearily, like he was ready to flop over and fall asleep. But he took the pen, and started to sign the form. Chun-Li stopped him when he finished writing the first name. Grabbing his hand, she took the pen from him. "Do I have to do this part, too?" she asked angrily, scribbling over what he'd written. She looked at his DNI card again, held it to the paper, and did her best to emulate his signature. Maybe it was wrong to forge a signature, but he still wouldn't cooperate, and this was too important. What choice did she have? Once more, she gave the papers back to him, and said, "Take this back to her." She nodded towards the desk. He at least did that right, dropping back down heavily into the seat beside her afterwards.

There was a tense silence between them. She obviously didn't want to be there, and he obviously felt bad about something. She caught his lips moving a few times out of the corner of her eye, like he was going to say something, but he always stopped himself. Maybe he was getting closer to admitting he was lying to her. That he was playing some stupid game. But he stayed quiet and persisted with it. Someone eventually called for him, and at first he didn't respond. She had to tap her foot against his to get him to look up. Even now he was still dedicated to his act. She watched as he disappeared down the hall, following a nurse.

She knew it could take awhile, and let out a sigh at her lost evening. So much for a nice dinner, or hitting a bar. But this problem was too pressing, and she couldn't just let it go unsolved. There was a slightly exciting prospect of figuring out a way to get together the evidence to have him arrested and prosecuted, so she tried to focus on that. If he was here on assignment from Shadaloo, it was almost certain that if she could get into his hotel room, she'd find enough evidence to bring him to trial. But then she had to think about the legal aspects. She didn't have a warrant to search anything, and if he refused to let her search the place-which she was certain he would-it'd give him time to get rid of anything. She debated with herself whether that last fact fell under exigent circumstances or not, in which case, she wouldn't need the warrant to begin with.

The wait got boring quickly, and she drew out her phone. She checked her social media accounts, envious of photos from friends who were actually _enjoying _their Friday night. Ken and Eliza were in Paris. He was always jetting off somewhere. She liked traveling, but she'd never met someone who did as much of it as Ken. She supposed Ryu could give him a run for his money, though. There was a picture Julia had recently posted of Guile's daughter, Amy, helping him shuck some corn for dinner. Cammy made her feel a bit better, making a self-deprecating remark about an evening of Guinness, fish fingers, and the campiest 80's movie Netflix had to offer. So she wasn't the only one with a night in alone. But even that sounded more appealing than babysitting an assassin pretending to be amnesiac.

She switched gears, trying to keep her interest in a game, but failing. She tried reading next, glancing through headlines, but ultimately never opening an article. She crossed her legs, trying to get more comfortable in the chair, and heard something fall of the floor. Next to her foot, there was Vega's wallet. It'd been in her lap. She picked it up again, not wanting to lose it. She bit her lip as she thought about the odd situation he'd dragged her into. What was that name he kept calling himself? Maybe she could figure out some way to unravel his act if she figured out who that was supposed to be. She returned her attention to her phone, this time running a search on it.

It seemed not to be a terribly common name, but neither was it exactly unique. There were a few social media accounts showing up, and none of them were Vega's. She continued on to the next page. Nothing too interesting, nothing to indicate why he'd suddenly decided to start calling himself by it. By the third page of results, she was ready to give up when something caught her eye. The word 'asesinado' was in one of the links, and that sounded an awful lot like 'assassin' to her. It made her curious. The page was all in Spanish, but the browser offered a translation, and she learned 'asesinado' was 'murdered'. Still relevant, she thought. It was an old article, an archive from a Spanish newspaper, detailing a double-homicide that happened in Barcelona. A fairly prominent businessman, Fernando Durante Santiago, had shot and killed his wife, Mireia Sofia Navarro. It went on to say the man attempted to kill his step-son, Andrés Quesada Navarro. So there was the name, but what did it have to do with Vega's game, if anything at all? The step-son had killed his step-father instead of becoming the next victim. It was ruled as self-defense, and the teen wasn't jailed for it.

She tried another search, this time adding the term 'murder'. The article came up again. The second was someone's personal webpage. She'd seen sites like this before, people who had a morbid interest in murders and crime scenes. Chun-Li thought it was a bit of a strange hobby to have. There were a number of links listed down the side of the page to other cases, and she had to wonder how much time the creator of the site dedicated to it.

She waited for the browser to translate the page before scrolling down. There was a picture of a pretty blonde woman, the subtext telling her this was Mireia. The site told the same story as the article, although it did so in a more dramatic fashion and in much more detail. There were snippets of input from people who knew the family. Information sourced from whatever court records were available to the public. Whoever made the site apparently did their homework.

There was a brief introductory paragraph about the murder before the article went into a bit more depth about Mireia. She'd come from a poorer family, and married Sergi Ferran Quesada Basurto a man who had some relation to Spanish nobility. Spanish names, Chun-Li thought, could be a bit of a mouthful. Sergi's aristocratic family was, apparently, wary of the union between their son and Mireia, suspecting he'd married her as an act of defiance to them, or that she was looking for a quick and easy way to rise out of poverty. She was described as sharp, fiery, and intelligent. There was a photo of the man and Mireia, and Chun-Li was struck by how much he looked like Vega. They weren't twins by any means, with this man having the more traditional Spanish look of dark brown hair and eyes. There were some other differences as well, but overall he was a very attractive man. They both appeared happy, the man with his arm slung around Mireia's shoulder, her smiling brightly at the camera.

As happy as they looked, though, the story quickly went sour. For reasons unknown, Sergi suddenly abandoned his family when their son was about five years old. The writer speculated that he may have run off with another woman, citing his family's aforementioned worries over his rushing into marriage. He could've realized he wasn't as in love as he thought, and left at the first opportunity. There were a few more bits of input from friends of Mireia, saying that the abandonment devastated her. She became cold, resentful, almost vindictive. A lot of people distanced themselves from her as a result, and this served only to make her more stubborn in her resolve. She had her son, and that became all that mattered to her. A few of her friends commented that she seemed, at times, almost too smothering, too dependent on him. She ended up remarrying twelve years after her first husband abandoned her.

Her second husband was nothing like her first, according to Mireia's friends. Sergi had been friendly and easy-going. Fernando was paranoid, jealous, and petty. Chun-Li pressed her lips together at that description, thinking it sounded a bit like Vega. The transition hadn't been easy on any of them. Fernando made no reservations about his distaste for Andrés, but Mireia was no doormat. She wouldn't stand for the man berating her son, and that only served to make Fernando hate him more. "If I were to guess," put in one of Mireia's friends, "I'd say Fernando saw Andrés as competition for his new wife's attention." A snippet from one of the son's teachers mentioned how he regretted not doing more, that there was obviously a degree of abuse going on, but Andrés wouldn't admit to any problems. "He used to be outgoing and friendly. Not long after his mother remarried, it was clear something had changed. He became very withdrawn. I'd ask how he was doing, try to get something out of him, but it was always, 'Fine, fine, fine.'"

There was another picture, this time of Fernando and Mireia, and Chun-Li couldn't help but wrinkle her nose a little. He _looked _like a jerk. She knew it wasn't fair to judge people for their looks, but she supposed there was a clear record of the man's actions to go by as well. There was an obvious change in Mireia when compared with the last photo. Gone was her glowing smile and bright eyes. Her eyes were so much like Vega's here-cold, emotionless, the eyes of somebody putting on a show, of someone who'd given up. She kept scrolling. It gave the account of the murder in a bit more detail than the previous article. According to testimony given by the son, Fernando accused Mireia of being 'disrespectful' before shooting her. Fernando tried to kill Andrés next. He tried to strangle his step-son, losing hold of his gun in the process, and Andrés used it to kill Fernando.

The page went on to say that they tried to get into contact with Andrés, to ask what he'd gone on to do with his life and how these events had impacted him. But his whereabouts were unknown, and all attempts to track him down resulted in nothing. She drew in a breath, and looked away from her phone. She really didn't know anything about Vega's past. She knew he was a matador, that he was from Barcelona, and that was about it. Could this story really be about him? The names were different, but there was some clear resemblance between Vega and Mireia and Sergi. She recalled how Vega mentioned at the desk that his name sounded made up. So was his a false identity? If so, why would he create one?

It made her curious. This could be the key to exposing him as a fraud. Sure, changing your name wasn't a crime by any means, but if she could dig up more about his past, she might find something worth arresting him for. Maybe he'd committed some other big crime, and had gotten caught. It could be a good motivation to try to change your identity. She spent a few minutes writing up an e-mail to the appropriate department in Interpol. A request for a background check on Andres and whatever records were available on the murder. For good measure, she asked for one on his parents as well. She knew sometimes these requests could take a while to be processed and ultimately fulfilled, but hoped it would end up being worth her while.

She heard Vega call her name, and it was almost surreal. She couldn't remember him ever referring to her by her proper name. How long had she been sitting here, reading about this murder case? At least, she guessed, it'd passed the time. She stood up, ready to get him in handcuffs again before he weaseled his way out of here on his own. A doctor was with him, so she couldn't do it right away. "Hi, are you the one staying with him?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," she lied, just to hear what he had to say.

"Okay. Not really suspecting a concussion based on what I've seen here. A blow to the head resulting in unconsciousness doesn't always necessarily result in one. He's not really exhibiting any of the hallmark symptoms, but just to be safe, I'd like you to keep an eye out for things like nausea or vomiting, decrease in coordination, balance, or motor skills, severe headaches, pupil abnormalities, slurring speech, convulsions or seizures."

She nodded as he spoke, feeling a bit satisfied. So he was faking all of this. Good, then this hadn't been a complete waste of her time. Just to be certain, she asked, "So, what about the memory loss? He says he doesn't know how he got to New York. That he was in Chicago."

"The sort of memory loss caused by head injuries tends to involve an inability to remember new information after sustaining the injury. He mentions his issues starting before you, ah, kicked him." She flushed a little red, like she'd gotten into some kind of trouble. If the doctor knew Vega the way she did, he'd see it made sense to respond with immediate force. "I went ahead and ordered an MRI, some blood tests. Didn't see any brain abnormalities to indicate any damage." She almost snorted and wanted to ask if he'd looked hard enough, but just continued to nod instead. "Blood tests will rule out any sort of nutritional deficiencies, diseases, anything like that. We can call you with the results and, if necessary, arrange a follow-up."

"Okay, thank you," she said. When the doctor was gone, there was another tense silence between her and Vega. He probably knew he'd been caught in his lie. She should've relished in it, showing him up like this. But she was just annoyed at all the time she'd made him waste. "So, are you willing to admit it yet?" she asked him.

"Admit what?"

"That you're faking all of this."

He closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head a little bit. He looked back over at her, and it was just too unusual to see him without any kind of malice or hatred in his eyes. "I'm not faking anything. I'm happy you didn't split my brain open, but I'm still confused about what's going on," he said. "I don't know how to convince you I'm not this Vega guy, or when you decided you even thought I was to begin with." He started to walk off, and she was about to call after him when she saw him approach the counter. He was just paying for the appointment and tests, she realized, and there was a bit of a relief. For a moment, a scenario ran through her head of chasing him through a hospital or around Manhattan, and it seemed impossibly stressful. But he didn't even try to leave her, instead coming back over with a few paper receipts. He was studying the numbers, which she supposed were not exactly small. "Where do you think I got all this money, anyway?" he asked as they headed towards an exit. The conversational tone was another oddity, leaving her feeling like she wasn't even talking to Vega, but to a completely different person.

"You're a famous matador," she answered.

He laughed outright, but she didn't laugh with him. It made him hesitate. "You're being serious?"

She nodded.

"I couldn't be a matador, my dad would've killed me before any bull had a chance."

"I'm really not going to argue with you over it," she responded, taking him by the wrist as they approached the exit.

He made an agitated noise. "Are you _really _putting those handcuffs back on?" he asked.

"I don't trust you." She led them outside, and pulled him over towards the corner of the building, away from the doors. People tended to keep to themselves, but she didn't want someone to notice what she was doing. She faced him, slapped on the cuffs, and they were back to the way they were before they got here.

"That's kind of hurtful," he said.

"I don't care."

"What did I do?" He was practically begging, and it was completely uncharacteristic of him. How the doctor hadn't found some kind of brain damage or any indication of the cause of his behavior was confusing in itself. She briefly wondered about asking for a second opinion, but it was getting late and she'd given him enough of her time already.

"We're going back to your hotel room," she said, ignoring the question. He knew what he'd done, he just wanted to pretend otherwise. To toy with her, to get her worked up and pissed off. And it was working, which just made her even more irritated with him.

"Why do I have a separate room from you?" he asked.

"Stop it, okay!" she shouted finally. She was tired of all the questions, annoyed that he wouldn't just drop it and reveal his true, awful self. "I'm not falling for it, so shut up!" She didn't like yelling at people, but he was an obvious exception. Maybe she was giving him what he wanted with such a reaction. She couldn't bring herself to care, having an urgent need to vent her frustrations somehow.

He immediately stopped talking, and his eyes fell to the sidewalk. It was pathetic, almost, but she didn't care because at least he'd gotten quiet. She was able to ignore him for the most part after that. Once more, she looked into his wallet for the hotel room key, and searched on her phone for the location. It reminded her of the articles she'd been reading while he was being examined. About Andrés and Vega, who was who, if they were really the same people or if his resemblance to Mireia and Sergi was just a coincidence. After all, how could she know how well-researched a random website was? Maybe the page had been full of errors. She couldn't know. Her own research could possibly sort things out, but then, she also had a first-hand source right here. Though, whether or not he'd tell the truth was impossible to know. She looked over at him. He was still quiet, glancing around at their surroundings every so often but mostly facing forward. "You said your name is Andrés, right?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"What was your mom's name?"

His brows drew together and she saw his jaw clench slightly before he looked off to the left. "You should know," he mumbled to himself. He took a deep breath before saying, "Mireia."

"And what happened between her and Fernando?" she asked.

At that, a confused expression passed over his face. "Who is that?"

"Your step-father?"

"What are you talking about? I never had a step-father."

She pressed her lips together. Was the page wrong about the identity of Mireia's killer? About her remarrying? No, she realized quickly, because the newspaper article had mentioned the same name as the website. How likely was it that they were both misinformed? Things were beyond messy to her. Maybe the Andrés from the article wasn't Vega after all, but could it be just a huge coincidence he claimed to have the same parents? And that he looked so much like them? Maybe he knew of this particular murder case and was just making things up based on that to confuse her. She couldn't know how he thought-he was a disturbed individual, and completely unpredictable. "How did you say your mom died?" she asked.

"Cancer."

So there was another difference. Not murder, but illness. What was the point of this part of the game? To gain her sympathy, maybe? "And what happened to your dad?"

"Car wreck." She saw his eyes roll up to look at the grey and darkening sky before flicking back down to the sidewalk. "It was a bad few years. You should know."

"Why should I know?" she asked.

"Because you were probably the only reason I got through them."

She stayed quiet, maintaining a passive outward appearance. Obviously it wasn't true. Regardless of how his parents died-through some messy murder, or more mundane reasons-she had not been there for him. The notion that this was some way to get her to sympathize with him and thus, disarm her, seemed more and more likely to her now. So she couldn't allow that to happen. No matter how desperate or upset he sounded, no matter how different and unlike himself he seemed, he was still Vega, a murderer, hired killer, terrorist, and completely unrepentant about all of it. There were few types of people more disgusting than him, and all of this manipulation reminded her of that. Prison was the best place for someone like him to be, and she was intending to get him there, no matter the cost.

* * *

Maybe stating the obvious here, but I'm not a doctor and the medical stuff in this chapter was the result of a few minutes of research online. I could've very easily misinterpreted some of the information, so feel free to let me know so I can change it. Same with the stuff about names. I think 'de' is the Spanish nobility particle, not 'la' by itself, and i couldn't find any names that use just 'la'...not that I'm expecting a ton of integrity from the street fighter anime that made that part of the name up anyway :P Thank you to everyone reading and/or reviewing. :)


	3. Chapter 3

This hotel was obviously nicer than hers. Not that the quality of her own hotel was so terrible. And not that she cared too much about it one way or the other. It was, after all, just a hotel. Some place to sleep and work out of, and maybe eat dinner in when she didn't feel like sitting alone in a restaurant and having someone try to pick up on her.

She discreetly unlocked the cuffs, slipping them into the pocket of her navy coat. She looked over at him, nodded to the front desk, and he made a disagreeable noise. She pulled on his arm, and he shot her an irritated look, but ultimately did what she was wordlessly demanding of him. It was bizarre, watching him as he cautiously approached the counter, so obviously unsure of himself and what he was here for. 'Vega' and 'unsure' weren't meant to be in the same sentence.

"Hello..." he said sort of slowly to the clerk behind the desk. He was plainly nervous, like he was going to say the wrong thing and get caught in a lie. She quirked an eyebrow at the sight. He was really dedicated to this 'I'm not myself' thing. "I've forgotten my room number. Can you tell me what it is?"

"Certainly, can I have your name?" the woman behind the desk responded, fingers on the keyboard.

"Aaann-" he started to say, stretching the sound of the syllable as he caught himself. But then his eyes narrowed when he couldn't remember the whole name he was supposed to give her.

"He's being a little forgetful today," Chun-Li said to the clerk, stepping in before his behavior got too suspicious. She wasn't going to let him avoid this, and the more he resisted and messed up, the more she felt she was closer to finding something he didn't want her to find. But if that was the case, why was he playing along at all? Why didn't he just run, or give up the act and tell her off? "Started his weekend a little early, if you understand me." She smiled reassuringly at the woman, digging Vega's ID out of his wallet. She slid it across the counter. The woman picked it up, casting a cautious glance over at Vega and then to the picture on the card.

"Right, here you are," she said. "1466." She handed the card back, and Vega took it, completely mystified.

"Thank you," Chun-Li said, tugging on Vega's hand and making him move towards the elevators. "I knew I couldn't trust you to do something so simple. You have to try to ruin everything."

He was still staring at the DNI card, confounded. "Vega," he repeated. "Why..." He pressed his lips together. "When did this happen? I changed my name?" Then he shook his head. "Or somebody's used my picture for their fake ID? I'm so confused."

Chun-Li glanced up at him as she waited for the elevator to come. "I have to admit," she said, "you're a pretty good actor."

"I'm not acting," he mumbled, sounding completely defeated. "I won't keep insisting this. You won't believe me, for some reason, and I don't know what I did wrong, or why things are like this. I'm sorry."

That annoyed her for some reason. Again, she thought of a puppy who'd been scolded. He was confused but utterly dejected, like he couldn't figure out what he'd done to deserve such treatment, but felt guilty for it all the same. She wasn't convinced Vega knew what guilt was, so it was beyond strange seeing him this way. The elevator dinged, and she pulled on him again. "Come on," she said. He followed without protest.

She glanced at the numbers beside the doors. Finally finding the right one, she pulled out the key card, and slid it in the reader. It struck her that there was a slight possibility someone could already be here. Maybe some partner he'd been assigned by Shadaloo, back up, some kind of coordinator, a trainee, or, worst of all, some victim of his. She pushed the door open slowly, bracing for the worst. But no, the room was quiet and empty. She kept her hand tightly on his wrist, though she knew it wasn't completely necessary. He seemed to be following her without any resistance or indication that he was ready to run. She pushed the bathroom door all the way open, finding no one behind it or the shower curtain. "Sit there," she ordered, nodding to the floor beside the tub. It'd worked well in her room, as the rest of the room offered nowhere to really restrain someone. She supposed that made sense, as hotels weren't really built with that sort of thing in mind.

She expected a protest, but he did what she said without a word. She pulled his free arm back to meet the other one, leaving him in much the same condition as she had in her own bathroom. Once she was done looking for any sign of some plot or assignment of his, she'd let him loose. She knew she couldn't keep him tied up forever, but wanted to get as much out of him as she could before letting him go.

He was quiet while she searched his room, and that was unexpected but welcome. She thought, once she got him here, he'd revert back to his normal self, giving up on the game. She dug through his bag. Just clothes, a phone adapter, a book. There was a plastic grocery bag. Toothpaste, a toothbrush, deoderant, nothing terribly unusual in it. She looked under the bed. Nothing. She lifted both mattresses, tore away all the sheets, looked behind the dresser, in every drawer, and still, there was nothing out of the ordinary. She came to the closet. There wasn't anything in it. She sighed as she pulled back the extra bag of sheets the hotel had left on the shelf in the closet. She walked back over to the closest bed, and dropped onto it, wracking her brain. She knew he was up to something, he just had to be. That paper in his wallet had claimed something about someone being 'heavily armed'. What did it mean? Who was he after? How could she stop him? His phone was still in her pocket, and she glanced at it. No one had tried contacting him yet. Would that change if she had him tied up still when his failure to complete his assignment was noticed? Was he even here for Shadaloo anyway? She sighed. Of course he was, he had to be. It couldn't just be a coincidence that she'd been called to New York to help with a Shadaloo-related problem and Vega was in the city at the same time.

A growling noise in her stomach made her hand fly to her abdomen, and she frowned. Maybe she'd been ignoring her own needs with all of this work she'd thrown herself into. She had a bad habit of skipping meals when working on something particularly engrossing. She guessed he'd need to eat to, or else he'd just get irritable and difficult to work with. Not that he was _easy _to work with, exactly, but she definitely didn't want to make it any harder on herself than it had to be.

She pushed herself off of the bed, grabbed the thin hotel information book off the desk, and walked back to the bathroom. He'd been waving his feet back and forth, tapping the toes of his shoes together, and he stopped when he saw her. She raised her eyebrows and he looked down, obviously embarrassed. "Maybe you're good at hiding things," she admitted. "But sooner or later, someone's going to call for you, and I want to be here when they do." It'd be some pretty solid proof against him, to be able to record a call between him and Shadaloo. How she could do that, she wasn't yet sure, but there had to be _some _way. "So, in the mean time, I'm a little hungry and I guess you have to eat, too." She flipped open the book, finding the room service menu, and she held it out at arms' length to him. "Pick something."

"Look at the _shrimp,_" he said in a sort of playful, mocking manner. Like he was goading her on.

She felt her nostrils flare, not liking the way he said it. "Why would I care?"

"Because according to you, shrimp are the roaches of the ocean, and you can see their poo when you eat them. That sort of thing."

She gritted her teeth to keep back a shocked expression. He somehow knew shrimp really, really grossed her out. She ate a number of things the average westerner thought was unappetizing, but for some reason, shrimp was a line she refused to cross. So how did he know that, down to the comment about them being like roaches? "Pick something already or starve," she snapped, maybe showing a little too much annoyance. She didn't like the idea that he knew anything about her. Didn't like that she had no idea how he figured something like that out. She tried to tell herself that it was just a coincidence, or maybe he'd heard someone else say it before.

"Fine. Grilled cheese," he said, nodding at the menu.

She snorted. "I thought people like you only ate pheasant and foie gras at every meal, presented artfully and with glasses of obnoxiously expensive wine."

"Look," he said back, irritation creeping into his voice. "I'm very stressed out. Very confused. I don't know what's going on. You, the one person I think of as being able to totally trust, have suddenly decided you hate me. You won't even call me by my own _name. _Everything right now is approaching horrible. Yes, maybe it's childish...but I want a grilled cheese."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." He could eat whatever he wanted, she didn't care that much. She left the bathroom, glancing over the menu herself as she paced slowly around the room. She finally settled on a sandwich, and placed the order. Charge it to the room, of course. He owed her that much for babysitting him like this, even if it ended in his arrest. There was plainly something wrong with him, beyond the usual issues, so she was probably doing him a favor keeping him cooped up in here.

In about twenty minutes, there was a knock at the door. She'd dug his laptop out of his bag and tried getting on that in search of anything incriminating. But it needed a password and he, of course, pretended not to know it. She made sure to close the bathroom door before taking in the food. It might, she decided, be quite upsetting for one of the hotel employees to come in and see a man handcuffed in the bathroom. One of the plates felt pretty warm, so she knew that one was his. She brought it to him, set both plates down, and rearranged the restraints so he'd have at least one free hand to eat with.

"I bet I know what yours is," he said as she picked up her own plate. She raised an eyebrow, allowing for him to continue. "Turkey club, with avocado and arugula if you have it, and please no mayonnaise, mustard on the side."

"So you just heard me on the phone out there," she said, unimpressed.

"What? No, I heard, blll mmmm blll," he said, making humming and bawwing noises, somewhat like a muffled voice. "Very Charlie Brown-esque, if you will."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not impressed. You can just eavesdrop. Not surprised."

"You're so stubborn," he muttered, glancing down at his plate and pulling off the cover. Probably terrible for anyone. He couldn't bring himself to care, not after today.

"Why do you keep talking to me like that?" she asked, more frustrated than angry at this point.

He shrugged. "That's how I always talk to you. It seemed like it worked."

"What do you mean?" She sat down on the lid of the toiled, balancing her plate in her lap. She wanted to get her meal out of the way, but also wanted to hear the answer.

He swallowed the food he was eating. "Oh. I just meant, I suppose, you wouldn't still be with me after all this time if you minded how I spoke."

"I'm not 'with you'," she corrected. "Never have been, never will be."

He hummed as he shook his head. "Well, I promise, you were. For five years. I don't know what I did here to make you hate me so much, but you used to, at least, _not _hate me."

"Why do you think that? When have I ever given you that impression?" She took a bite of her own food. Arugula and avocado and all.

"When I first talked to you." He raised his eyebrows. "I never had to drink a few beers before talking to a woman before, but you were so beautiful I thought for sure you'd laugh at me for even speaking to you."

"Is that a joke?" she snapped. Much as she hated him, she realized how attractive he was. If someone didn't know about the darker side to his personality, she could see him as the kind of man who got any woman he wanted. Being sort of a celebrity helped, but even if he didn't have that going for him, she could see it. What she couldn't see, though, was him at the sort of bars people on her financial level would ever be patrons of, and she certainly couldn't picture him with a beer. He was just making all of this up as he went along, she was sure of it.

"What? No. I mean, I think I have a pretty healthy perspective on myself," he answered with a shrug of his shoulders. She laughed out loud and he sighed. "I know I'm not a bad-looking guy, is what I meant, but I know you're just in another class entirely."

She felt her face burning red and she hated it. She knew he'd find it amusing, and she didn't want him to. Nothing he had to say should seem flattering, even if he sounded genuine. He was a liar and a fake, that was all. He was trying to disarm her again, but she wouldn't let him. "As long as you know," she spat back, giving him a taste of his own medicine with some arrogance of her own. She didn't think of herself as some untouchable beauty, though, and was generally pretty down to Earth about her looks. Perhaps the complete opposite of him, who couldn't get his head out of his ass.

He smiled sheepishly. "Yes, well, I do know. All of my friends kept saying I should ask you out. After maybe a month, I think, I got the courage to write you that letter in bad Mandarin. You wrote me one in bad Spanish. It was cute."

"I'm going to lose my appetite," she muttered, taking her plate and leaving him alone. She heard him sigh quietly as she left. But what was she supposed to do, sit in there and listen to that? Some story cribbed from the romantic comedy 101 playbook? Whatever his deal was, his stories and mannerisms were becoming too unsettling for her to humor anymore. She sat on one of the beds, reached for the remote to provide herself a distraction, when she heard an odd noise.

Her brows drew together at the sort of fluttering sound coming from above her. It was like a bag being rustled by a breeze. She looked over at the plastic bag on the floor with the toiletries in it, but it wasn't moving. She glanced up. There was a vent. Pressing her lips together, she abandoned her sandwich, and dragged the small table so that it was positioned directly beneath the vent. She climbed onto it, having to stand on the tips of her toes to reach it. There were two screws on either side, and she couldn't undo them with her fingers. She glanced back down, looking over the items in the room. She couldn't really find anything. There was a pen cap, but that was probably too flimsy. She sighed, knowing something was in that vent. Whether it was just some trash that happened to find its way to this room, or something else, she couldn't say until she opened it.

She suddenly remembered the pair of fingernail clippers in the grocery bag. Jumping down, she fished them out, and unfolded the thinnest component, hoping it would work. She climbed back up on the table, stood on her toes, and unscrewed the vent. There, even in the dim light, she could see something. A black bag, an edge fluttering as cold air passed over it. She gritted her teeth as she stretched as far as she could, but it was just out of reach. He was about seven inches taller than her, and probably could've reached it. She wasn't going to let him out of the bathroom until she knew what she'd found, though. She jumped, hand brushing the bag, but not quite grabbing it.

"Hey, are you okay?" she heard him ask. The sudden thud of her feet against the table seemed to have startled him.

"Peachy keen" she answered, the last word becoming strained as she jumped again. She grunted as she leapt up one more time, this time her fingers digging into the bag. There was a ripping noise as tape peeled away from inside of the vent, and some dust rained out of it. She brushed it away from her face, and wriggled her nose to keep from sneezing. She had the bag in her hands, and was a little surprised at just how heavy it was. Feeling pretty confident now that she'd gotten what she wanted, she returned to the bathroom to show him she wasn't so easily deterred as he thought.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, and looked at him. He looked back, but didn't seem nervous or agitated. Just confused. "What do you think is in here?" she asked politely, pulling some of the tape off of it.

He shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "Should I?"

"Don't you get it already? You're caught. It's over. This is going to be all the evidence I need to put you away for the rest of your life."

He took in a sharp breath, and seemed genuinely afraid. "I don't know what you think I did, but I swear to God, I didn't."

She ignored him. He'd say whatever he had to in order to avoid prison. She opened the bag and reached in. The first thing that came out was another bag. In it, the black uniform he wore on Shadaloo-ordered missions was folded neatly. She felt over it, but it was all just cloth. She pulled out something else. It was hard and wrapped in a plain white cloth. She unraveled it, revealing that white, featureless mask he always wore. It drew a reaction from him, and she looked up quickly. He was staring at it, shock and confusion written on his face. So she held it up to face him. "So you recognize that?" she asked, relieved that he'd finally let up on the game he was playing.

He nodded slowly. "It was my mother's," he said in a slow, halting voice. "You know that. Or you did."

"What?" She had never thought much about where the mask had come from.

"She had a few masks like this. Venetian carnival masks. I told you how that one always sort of...frightened me as a kid. It was the only one that didn't have a mouth, and I couldn't think of anything scarier than to be silenced like that. To never be able to express yourself, to never have anyone listen to you. Just you and your thoughts." She stared at him as he spoke, trying to tell herself that he was just playing with her. But he seemed so genuine. It sounded like a pretty intimate thought to admit to. The way he spoke to her like he trusted her made it that much worse. Finally, after a moment of silence passed between them, he asked, "Where did you get it? I thought I gave it away when she died."

"It's not mine," she said quickly. He wasn't going to implicate her in owning this. "It's yours."

He shook his head, apparently willing to concede that point for now. "So why is it here?"

"You know why," she asserted, reaching into the bag and pulling out the next item. It was also wrapped up in a cloth, but considerably heavier. She pulled the cloth away, and he stared at it. The mask seemed to surprise him, but the claw outright frightened him.

"What the hell is that?" he whispered.

"Don't act like you don't know," she said. "Like I said, Vega, it's over. You can pretend all you like, but we both know what you're here to do, and you aren't getting away with it."

He shouted in Spanish suddenly, startling her, and she thought he was finally giving up. He shook his arms frantically, the handcuffs clanging and ringing noisily against the hand rail, and she waited for him to calm down. "I'm! Not! Vega! I don't know what happened to you! To me! You have to stop and think! Okay, just think, remember-" He groaned again, putting his head back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut. His voice fell, and he sounded so pathetically desperate. "Please. Chun-Li, think. You think I killed someone?" He laughed, short, ironic. "I can't even lay rat traps without feeling bad about it."

She watched him as he spoke. She couldn't let him make her doubt herself. It didn't matter how convincing he sounded, how sad, how confused. He was a complete psychopath, and would do whatever it took to get out of trouble. She wrapped everything back up and returned it to the bag. "I know it's tough going from playboy to prisoner, but you'll adjust," she said.

He mouthed the word 'playboy', plainly confused. "Who do you think I am?" he asked, voice rising. "Can you at least give me that?"

She laughed. "Where do you want me to start?"

He started to say something, but a noise made him stop. She felt her heart skip a beat, and she kept completely still, afraid to even breathe. His wide eyes locked onto hers as they both realized the same thing. They were no longer alone.

* * *

quick note regarding the mask belonging to his mother-i can't remember if that is something i saw in an SVC Chaos comic(I have this picture in my head of a panel showing vega's mom and there are a few masks on the wall behind her, but maybe i'm making it up D: ), or if it was something suggested in a conversation with a user on this site. if it's the latter, and you happen to be that user, let me know and i can give you a credit here or take it out of the fic, if you'd prefer. thanks again to everybody reading and reviewing :)


	4. Chapter 4

She took in deep, even breaths through her nose. "Who did you call?" she said, barely loud enough to be considered a whisper. It was her first instinctive reaction, that he'd called for back up. But no, that wasn't possible. She'd had his phone from the get-go, and he hadn't had any other method of contacting anyone.

"No one!" he whispered back.

Quiet footsteps drew closer. She looked around the room. The claw lay discarded on the floor. Could she risk letting him loose with that deadly weapon within his reach? No. This could be it, the trap set for her. To be lured back to his room, to be cornered and overpowered. It was one of the possibilities, at least, so she wouldn't let him go just yet. Whoever these people were, they probably weren't good news, and needed to be dealt with. She moved slowly, trying to avoid making any noise. Maybe they knew Vega was here, but did they realize someone was with him? She quietly put a hand on the door handle, crouching behind it. He watched, terror in his eyes, and had she ever seen him afraid of anything? She tried not to let him distract her, focusing on the sound of the footsteps on the carpeted floor in the room.

Her heart was racing, but she forced herself to remain calm. She'd dealt with some pretty tough people in her line of work, had been outnumbered before. The footsteps were closer now, she stared through the small crack between the door and the wall. Closer. A shadow passed through that sliver. She tensed, tightened her grip on the knob. Heard them stop, saw Vega look over to the threshold, jaw clenched, eyes wide. "Well," she heard someone mutter, and there was a clear hint of suspicion in his voice. "That's a freebie."

"Shit, shit, no-" Vega started to say, head shaking frantically as he tried to move away from the door. She heard the distinct sound of the slide of a handgun being drawn back, she gritted her teeth.

There were two noises in quick succession. She slammed the door closed, trapping the gunman's outstretched arm tightly against the threshold, and he screamed. The gun fired shortly after, and, though equipped with a silencer, was still no fun to hear. She wrenched it free just as one of the men pushed back against the door. A glance at Vega told her he wasn't dead. He could be hurt, dying, but now wasn't exactly the best time to try to play doctor. If she left him restrained, he was a sitting duck. If she let him go, he might try to kill her after finishing off these two intruders. The terrified look on his face made her take a chance. As she backed away from the opening door, she dug in her pocket, tossing the keys to the cuffs at him. He didn't have to be told what they were for.

She kept her attention on the men, kicking the first in the face as soon as he stepped in the room. She pivoted her foot, and brought her leg back in the other direction. It hit the second man in the cheek. She had to get that gun away from him. One more time, she pivoted, but this time caught him by the back of the neck with her leg. Throwing her arms out to counter the weight, she pulled hard, the man's upper body coming down from the force she applied. The other one returned to the fray, and she felt a pain in her side when he hit her. His head snapped to the side suddenly, having been punched in the jaw by Vega. She noted the way he winced and shook out his hand afterwards, as though that had hurt him just as much as the guy he'd punched. With a cry, she put all her weight into the back of the man's neck even as he struggled against her, and brought them both to the ground.

She saw the white mask skitter across the floor, kicked away accidentally by Vega as he tried to escape the grip of the first assailant. The man had his arm tightly around Vega's neck and was dragging him backwards against his will. She tried to watch both at once, but the man she had pinned under her was the priority. He was still armed. She was suddenly flipped onto her back, halfway out into the hall. With a quick motion, she was back on her feet. Her opponent wasn't stupid enough to try to grapple with her, realizing she was a little tougher than he thought. A fatal assumption made by most of the men she ended up squaring off against. Suddenly, the sound of something shattering drew both of their attentions back towards the others. One of the plates the food had been brought on was in pieces on the ground and...Was that Vega, Shadaloo's deadliest assassin, doing his best to shove a half-eaten toasted cheese sandwich into his assailant's face? What did he hope to accomplish by doing that? She couldn't waste time wondering about it, utilizing every second of the distraction instead. She rushed her opponent, grabbed him at the wrist with her free hand. She spun towards him, her back to him when she drove her elbow into his gut. Her foot moved quickly, tripping up one leg, then the other. She yanked hard on his wrist as he stumbled, pulling him forward, and he face-planted into the tile.

She wasn't an executioner, and wasn't willing to shoot either of them unless it was absolutely necessary for her safety. But they didn't know that. With one foot pressed against the man's wrist, she pointed the gun at his face. "Drop your wea-" she started to order, but was interrupted when something collided with her. She fell, half of her still on the men below her, and she groaned irritably when she realized it was Vega who was on top of her. Perfect timing on his part. She tensed her legs, trying to keep the man pinned while Vega pushed himself off of her. "Get his gun!" she demanded and he looked too bewildered and shocked to react. The lack of response from him gave the first man all the time he needed, and she heard Vega gasp when he was kicked in the ribs. It was great that the one time she wanted him to fight, he seemed completely oblivious.

She growled as the one still standing fixed his eyes on her. He drew back his leg, but she wasn't as much of a pushover. Pulling her legs up, she swung them hard, trapping his leg between hers at the knee. One foot dug into his back, her other leg wrapped around his, and as he came down, she pulled herself up. She elbowed the other man, still beneath her but struggling to crawl away, and she saw his mistake as he put his palms flat against the ground for support. The gun was still under his hand, but he wasn't gripping it tightly anymore. She made her move, releasing her legs from the other man, and kicking at the gun. The guy drew his hand back quickly, the weapon spun away before colliding noisily with the wall as it disappeared beneath the sink. That left one weapon, and it was in her hands.

"Up," she ordered, keeping the weapon level and steady. "Hands on your heads."

Maybe it'd been naive to expect they'd cooperate. And maybe she hadn't been as perceptive as she thought about the number of weapons in the room. There was a flash of metal, razor-sharp, and she jumped back, hip hitting the sink. She cursed herself for being so careless and forgetting about the claw. It wasn't Vega swiping it at her, but the first man she'd disarmed. He was holding it in both hands, using it more like a set of knives, clearly unsure of how to wield them. That'd be an advantage. But he stood between herself and the bathroom door now, leaving her trapped in here with them. "We're not done here yet," the man said, voice slightly muffled by the covering on his face.

She glanced past the man, surprised to see Vega was still there even though he had a clear shot at freedom. The door was in arm's reach. She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten, like he was really working himself up to something before he squeezed his eyes shut and threw himself at the guy with the claw. It was the most graceless maneuver she'd ever seen in her life. Arms wrapped tightly around the man's waist, the two hit the door and fell in a heap. She slid away to the side, slamming the pistol in her hand into the side of the remaining man's head. He stumbled back, she kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over, she kneed him in the jaw. With a cry of '_kikoken!'_ she focused, and he stumbled back into the wall from the force of it. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he dropped.

She spun quickly, knowing the fight wasn't over yet. There was an odd rhythm as Vega repeatedly cried, "_¡Mierda__!"_ immediately followed by the sound of metal glancing off the tile, or into the carpeted floor. She caught sight as the man drove the claws about where Vega's groin had been. With the speed expected of a man whose genitalia had just been threatened, he pushed himself back and spread his legs as wide as they would go. The claws found a home in the floor instead. Why wasn't Vega tearing this guy apart? Not that she thought the man should die, but it certainly wasn't Vega's style to leave a man who attacked him alive. Instead he was frantic, trying to push himself away and never quite making it back up to his feet. Like he had no idea how to respond to the situation. He finally hit a wall and the color drained from his face as his eyes flew wide. The man drew back his arm, ready to bury those claws in his target.

Chun-Li caught the crook of his elbow with the back of her leg, pulling it back painfully. She quickly drew up her other foot, smashing it into the side of the man's head before planting it into the ground again. He fell to the ground from the force of the blow, in a daze. She moved in fast for another blow. His eyes rolled around in his head briefly before his lids slid shut. Both of them watched him for a moment.

"They were going to kill us!" Vega blurted, utterly terrified, gasping breaths. "What the hell is going on!"

"You were afraid of them," she said quietly, brow furrowed as she studied him.

His eyes widened a little, like she'd just said something a bit dumb. "Yes," he said slowly, climbing to his feet. "They had guns and were trying _to kill us._"

"Doesn't usually stop you."

"I'm not usually around guns and murderers!"

He wasn't acting. Vega was much too self-important to put whatever act he may have been ordered to carry out ahead of his own safety. She couldn't use that as an excuse anymore. Had Bison done something to him? Maybe erased his memory somehow? If so, why? Bison didn't fire people from Shadaloo-he executed them. So what was she supposed to do with Vega now? He wasn't useful if he was so unaware of everything he was supposed to be. "Who are they?" she asked, nodding to the unconscious man on the floor.

"I don't know!" he exploded. "Will you _stop _acting like I have any idea what's happening here?"

She ignored his outburst, still a little confused by his behavior. This wasn't the Vega she knew and hated anymore. So what did that make him? She glanced over at him, his eyes wide and staring at the man, one hand tangled in his hair. Frightened, apparently. He should've been able to kill them with his bare hands. Not that she wanted that to happen, exactly, but it was the more characteristic reaction from him. She crouched next to the intruder, and she felt a hand on her arm. She jerked away without thinking, looking back at him.

"Be careful," he said. His eyes flicked back to the man before settling on hers again. He was worried. For her. She cringed, turning her attention back to identify the man. He was dressed for a tough fight. Kevlar vest. Helmet, mask over the lower half of the face. To hide an identity, or for protection? If these people were here to kill Vega, then definitely for protection. The hard, black gauntlets on his arms corroborated that notion. She caught sight of a patch sewn into the shoulder of the uniform. Something like an eye fused with an aiming reticle.

"S.I.N.," she mumbled, more to herself than him as she returned to the bathroom. She studied the other unconscious man's uniform, and the same insignia was on his sleeve as well. She closed her eyes briefly, putting a hand to her head.

"What?"

"These men were sent here by S.I.N." She pressed her lips together, not at all liking what that meant she'd just gotten herself into by fighting them.

"What is that?"

She was done challenging him and expecting him to behave normally. There was no sense in fighting him every step of the way when it was plain he was genuinely amnesiac-or something along those lines. "It _was _a branch of Shadaloo, the weapons division. When Akuma killed Bison, Seth took command of S.I.N. Loyalties were divided between it and Shadaloo, and one organization became two. But Seth didn't realize Bison was back from the dead."

He blinked once before staring at her. "I'm sorry, what channel do they air this soap opera on? When does the evil twin come in?"

She frowned as she thought of Decapre and Cammy. He wasn't so far off the mark, but that was a story for another time. "Yeah, it's quite a drama you guys have going on over there," she said. "You, if my information is correct, were contracted by S.I.N. soon after Bison's alleged death. They didn't realize you were acting as a plant for Shadaloo, and you sabatoged one of their main bases."

He laughed and shook his head. It was all absurd, as far as he was concerned. He definitely wasn't some top secret agent or spy. "You make me sound like...terrorist James Bond or something."

She bit back a remark about him being more Bateman than Bond. "Well, I'm just telling you how it is, since you can't seem to remember," she said. "You tried to kill me, so trust me, _I _remember."

"I would never-" He sounded incredibly indignant about that, repulsed by the very notion that he would try to harm her.

"Don't bother," she said, cutting him off. "It wasn't the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last." She tried not to think about it. The very fact that she was sitting here and talking to him like a normal person was a testament to her incredible patience. She'd had a lot of sleepless nights because of him. Nightmares of him succeeding where he'd failed in reality. It took a lot to stand here in the same room with him, to talk to him without disgust edging into her voice. "The point is, Bison eventually revealed himself to Seth. Soon after, Seth was killed by one of his own subordinates, Juri Han. So far as we know, she's still in power. And..." She looked back to the body of the S.I.N. agent. "And she's apparently got a bit of a grudge. "

Vega put his hands over his face, briefly rubbing his closed eyes with his fingers. He pulled them away with a laugh before saying, "This is insane."

"Welcome to your life," she said, shrugging.

"What do I do?" he asked, and it was her turn to stare.

"Why do you think I would ever help you?" she asked.

"Because-" he started to say, then stopped himself. Some realization seemed to strike him, and his face fell. "I guess that isn't true anymore, though, is it," he muttered to himself. But then he shook his head. "Even if you don't love me, I know you. You're a good person, and you wouldn't just leave somebody to die." He looked over at the unmoving body on the floor, and nodded towards it. "And you know that's what will happen to me if you don't help."

"I've got news for you," she said, her voice rising a bit. She didn't like the way he kept assuming he knew her and saying what she would and wouldn't do. "I don't like you. I don't often say the word hate, but I'd go so far as to use it with you. You're a murderer, sadistic, even. I would never in my life kill someone unless there was no other option. But I'm not going to save someone like _you. _Whatever happens to you, you've had it coming."

"That's _not _me," he insisted. "Look me in the eye and say you think that's who _I _am."

"Vega-"

"No, not Vega," he said sharply. He didn't look angry, but determined. He was so sure he could convince her. She felt her brows relax a little as she looked at him. He was different, but how? Why? And did it even matter? Whatever had changed, would he just change right back? It felt completely wrong and against every moral fibre of her being to even entertain the notion of helping him in any way. No, she didn't _want_ him to die. But that was just a basic decency she afforded to everyone. If he was killed, she wasn't exactly going to mourn him. "Come on," he said.

Her lips pulled back. "Don't you understand the position I'm in?" she said, waving a hand. "Regardless of whatever strange thing went on in your head, you have to realize that before today, even if you don't remember it, even if you are convinced that it's not who you are, you, this person," she grabbed him by the sleeve and shook lightly, "has killed. Those hands have ended lives, just for the hell of it. I can not, will not, help someone like that."

"And I'm _not _someone like that. At all," he said.

"You have no way of proving that to me," she said nonchalantly. She stepped away from him, leaving him to stare at the place she'd just been standing. He could beg and plead all he wanted, but she couldn't forgive herself if she went through with helping him and enabled the deaths of any more people if he should suddenly snap back to reality. She scooped up the discarded handcuffs, and pressed her lips together. Something had to be done about these two men. Leaving them to wake up would mean fighting them all over again. She'd taken enough of a risk in engaging in that conversation with Vega, giving them time to wake back up. She left the bathroom, only to find that the other man had already done just that. She cursed under her breath, seeing the opened window, the curtains being pulled outward by a breeze. So one had escaped, and was likely to tell Juri-or whoever had sent them-about her interference. That's just what she needed right now, for Juri Han to be biting at her heels again. She checked over the room to be sure the man had actually run off, a part of her relieved to find it empty and a part of her worried over what that meant for her.

She returned to the bathroom, snorting as she glanced at Vega. He was still thinking, apparently, lips set in a line and brows drawn together as he stared at the sink. As she pulled the unconscious man towards the tub, she started to rehearse a conversation in her head. To explain the break-in and attack. To suggest that maybe the heightened activity had to do with both S.I.N. and Shadaloo. The only hiccup was figuring out what to say about Vega. The mask, claw and-

No. She rushed back out into the room, looking everywhere for it. She even looked in the garbage bin, under the beds, but it was gone. She took in a deep breath to try to keep calm. But because she'd been distracted by Vega's sudden personality change, not only had a S.I.N. agent escaped arrest, he'd taken a vital piece of evidence required for forming a case against Vega with him. She let the breath out in a heavy sigh, closing her eyes briefly as she paced the room for a moment. There was no getting that back now, and would the mask and uniform alone be enough? The clothes were just plain black, nondescript. No patches or insignia like these two men had been wearing.

Frustration mounting, she walked back to the bathroom with heavy steps. Maybe a little rougher than was usual, she took hold of the unconscious man's arms, yanking them behind his back.

"I can prove it," Vega said suddenly.

She looked up after snapping the cuffs around this man's wrists. She only had the one pair, so she had to take her chances with an unrestrained Vega. Whatever his deal was, he didn't appear to be a threat. For now. He'd had ample opportunity to run, and he hadn't. Restraining both of them with the same pair of cuffs would probably end in one of them killing the other. Not exactly ideal circumstances. "What are you talking about?" she asked, already having forgotten what he was referring to. She had a whole new host of problems to be worried over now.

"I can prove I'm not who you think I am," he said.

She sighed as she looked down at the S.I.N. agent. "I don't know that I have time for this. This man-" She stopped, considering whether or not to mention Vega as well. She decided against it, thinking even if he wasn't behaving normally, most people would try to evade arrest, especially if they were so convinced they'd never committed a crime. "This man needs to be arrested."

"It won't take a lot of time," he said.

"What, then?" she asked.

"We talk," he said. "We just talk."

She was ready to tell him that nothing he could say could possibly prove anything. People like him were great liars and fakes. They knew how to play a part, and they knew what was expected of them. She'd read up on people with similar psychological profiles as him. Sociopaths and narcissists who could lie their way through psychiatric assessments and pass themselves off as completely normal to trained professionals. Words alone weren't going to be enough. There had to be some other, concrete way to explain what was going on with him, but she wasn't sure what that was yet. "Why do you think I'll believe anything you have to say?"

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't, but it's fair, right? To give me a chance?"

Finally, she sighed. "Okay. You get your talk. If I'm not convinced by it, that's it. No more chances." He nodded, accepting her terms. She had no idea what to expect from this conversation, but she still followed him as he walked back out into the room.


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay," he said, no hint of hesitation as he paced back and forth in front of the bed. "When you were eight, you wanted to marry Jackie Chan."

She blushed furiously and stared for a second. What did he think he was doing? And how did he know that? "So you can name one of the most famous Chinese actors ever. Good for you," she said, quickly dismissing the statement. Was this how he thought he was going to prove himself to her?

He wasn't deterred. "Your favorite color is blue. Your favorite game is Go. You like frozen yogurt better than ice cream because there are fewer calories, and you get annoyed when I point out that it doesn't matter when you put all of these..." he rubbed his thumb over the pads of his fingers, "sprinkles and candies on it."

She wasn't ready to concede defeat yet. Maybe he was stalking her and noticed some patterns. It didn't take a genius to realize she wore a lot of blue or to guess a Chinese person might play Go. The part about the dessert was a little troubling, but she didn't want to admit it yet. She kept her resolve. "Good guesses."

"It bothers you when people refer to you as 'exotic', and you hate when people reduce Chinese culture to 'panda bears and eggrolls'. You used to be self-conscious because you weren't quite as petite as the average Chinese girl. When you were ten, your cat-" he hesitated, closing his eyes as he stumbled through the pronunciation, "Xiaobai died and you wrote a letter to him saying you wished you had given him more attention. You left it, along with a handful of cat treats, on his grave. When you were twelve, you broke something of..." Again he paused, briefly closing his eyes and holding a hand to his forehead while he thought. "...a guy named Gen's, was he your uncle or something? I can't remember. I think it was some old, hand-painted vase that you kicked a ball at. You thought about blaming it on your cousin who was with you at the time, but even that made you feel so guilty you told on yourself."

Some things were a bit wrong. Her cat had died when she was eleven, and it wasn't her cousin who she tried to blame breaking Gen's vase on, but a fellow student. The fact that he had even come close to describing such things astounded her, and she was left speechless. How would he know her childhood pet's name, let alone that she left treats on its grave? It wasn't the sort of thing she'd ever written down, or that could be looked up.

"When you're drunk, you sing Chinese pop songs, and are always," he waved a hand, "'_Andres, say _naranjjja! _Andres, say _perrrro!' You laugh at everything, too, so I get to feel like a comedic genius. You like the woods better than the beach, so you weren't too impressed with Barcelona. You love kids but at the same time are afraid of having your own because it's a big responsibility and it's easy to mess up. You really look up to your dad and are hoping all the time that you're making him proud." She couldn't stop herself. The mention of her father coming from his lips drove her out of her inaction. She slapped him, hard.

"Don't you _ever _talk about him," she said through gritted teeth. He looked shocked, hand flying to his cheek. She thought for a moment he might snap out of it. But no, he looked pathetically apologetic, and still confused.

"I'm sorry," he said. "What did I do?"

"You think you're being so impressive," she said. "Sitting down here and telling me all about myself, like you're proving your point or something." Maybe this was what she'd agreed to let him do, but she hadn't honestly expected this. It was overwhelming, to hear him relay all of this information to her. It wasn't just the fact that he knew it, but also that it left her to desperately wonder _how _he knew it. To have such intimate thoughts and details of your own life spoken to you, out of the mouth of a man you hated, no less, was beyond surreal. It was frightening. But she didn't want him to know that, so she did what she was used to doing when it came to him, and got angry.

"Hey, it's okay," he said softly, and tried to put his hand on her cheek. She drew away, grabbed him by his wrist, and had him pinned against the desk in a flash, his arm twisted around behind his back. She heard him groan a little when his stomach hit the hard wood edge.

"Don't try to touch me!"

"Okay, okay, that hurts," he said in a strained voice.

"Good!" she cried, but let him go. She didn't take pleasure in hurting others, even people as disgusting as him. The situation had gone from 'a bit weird' to outright bizarre in the space of a few sentences. It was one thing for him to be amnesiac, or for his personality to have gotten a little more tolerable. It was another thing entirely for him to know so much about her with no clear explanation how. "I don't know what your game is, and I don't care. You stay away from me, or I swear-"

"Chun-Li," he pleaded, and she hated hearing him say her name. He never called her by her name, always some irritating nickname or another, mocking her. Somehow, hearing her name was far worse than anything else he usually called her. That, with the sincerity in his voice, in his eyes as he looked to her for help, for understanding, left her somewhere between confused and furious. "I want to figure out what's going on," he said. "But I can't if you won't help me. You're all I have." She felt his fingers on the back of her clenched fist. Her eyes flicked from his down to her hand. He took hers in his tentatively, as if he knew it might make her angry again, but that he had to try all the same.

"You don't _have _me," she said, yanking her hand away and pointing a finger in his face. He looked pained by that, but stayed quiet. "Maybe I can concede that you're different. That something weird is going on. But whatever it is, you have to understand, I'm not _yours _and never will be. Got it?"

"I didn't mean to imply that I _own _you or-"

"Say you understand, or you're on your own," she said, unwilling to budge. She thought she'd been plenty accommodating to a man who'd tried to kill her. Twice.

After a bit of hesitation, he finally said, "Okay. I understand." Whether he really did or not, she couldn't truthfully say. But it was a start. She wouldn't be able to figure any of this out if he kept trying to convince her he was her lover. It was too disturbing to ignore.

She looked around the room, and found the hotel stationary on the desk. Writing things down helped to make them clearer to her. She didn't know, exactly, if it would work quite as well in a situation like this, but it was worth trying. Picking up the pen, she said, "Tell me exactly when things got confusing for you. You mentioned being in Chicago." She drew a line down the middle of the paper. "What's your last memory of it? When did you figure out you were in New York instead?"

"I remember going to take a shower." His hand came up to the back of his head, carding some of his hair. "I guess I don't remember getting out though. Just, suddenly I'm opening my eyes, sitting at this bar. There's-" He looked down, as if a bit ashamed or embarrassed or something. "Don't get mad, alright, but I was apparently buying some woman a drink. I didn't do anything with her, though."

She glared at him. "I don't care. Didn't you just tell me you understood that we _aren't _together?"

He nodded slowly. "Right. Sorry, it's hard to switch something off like that."

"Okay, fine, whatever," she muttered, trying to be patient. She jotted down the information. "So you're missing some unknown amount of time. You don't remember how you got to New York."

"Right."

"You were saying you were in Chicago to go to school, I think?" she asked, pen at the ready. Time to play spot the differences.

"To teach at a school, yes," he said. He watched as she wrote something in the left column, then in the right column. It was all in Chinese, which he couldn't read save for a few basic characters. "What are you writing?"

She tapped the left column with the pen. "Who you are," she paused, tapped the right column, "Who you suddenly think you are."

"It's not sudden," he insisted. Then he raised his eyebrows. "So what does it say in the left?"

Her eyes met his, and she wondered if it did him any good to say. But then, she thought, she'd already said quite a bit to him in that regard. "Shadaloo assassin. Matador." She idly drew the pen over the words as she read them.

"_Assassin,_" he repeated, almost with a laugh. "How does one _become _an assassin for a terrorist organization? What do you write on that resume?"

"I'm just explaining what I know," she said sternly, not wanting to debate every point with him. "I'm giving you a courtesy by not arguing about who you're saying you are. I'd like if you'd extend the same to me."

"Fine. It's just a little strange. A little. Even this matador stuff. My dad was a huge proponent of that law banning bullfighting in Catalonia. He despised it. He'd never let me get into something like that," he explained.

"Your dad," she repeated to herself, remembering the brief bit of research she'd done on Vega earlier that day. She jotted that down quickly. "And your dad and mom, they stayed married, right?"

"Yes..." he said slowly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice. "Why? What's different about that?"

She hesitated. Maybe it was a bit premature to commit to telling him what might not even be accurate information. No, she'd wait until she got her report in. "Not sure," she said. "I don't know that much about you."

He seemed like he was going to say something. Maybe press the issue. She realized the mistake she'd made in hinting at the dissolution of his parents' marriage. But he didn't question it further. She jotted a question mark next to what, for now, she assumed was the reality-that his parents had separated, that his mother had been killed by her second husband. "What else, what else?" she murmured to herself. There was the obvious. That he thought they were dating. She wrote 'hate each other' in the left. 'Not so much' in the right. She couldn't even commit the word 'dating' to paper, the thought too disturbing.

"Those S.I.N. guys, they don't exist," he said suddenly, nodding back to the bathroom.

She wrote it down. "How do you know?" S.I.N. didn't have the same reputation as Shadaloo did, since it had been a subsidiary.

"I keep up with news about Shadaloo." He glanced at her, and he looked sort of sheepish about it. Like admitting to whatever he was about to say would be embarrassing for him. "I...maybe sometimes, I have been keeping these books, and I put things about it in there. It was just a little interesting at first." He stopped, like he was gauging her reaction. "Then I just couldn't stop thinking about it. Sometimes, I'd read an article, and it felt wrong. Like the information they were providing wasn't what it should be. So I'd keep it, and correct it as best as I could and I don't really know why I did any of it to begin with."

"Can you give me a specific example?" she said, ignoring the way he cautiously explained himself. Like he was expecting her to take issue with him for his weird little hobby.

He nodded. "Those girls they use as their assassins? It felt like they shouldn't still be there. People would throw around the word 'brainwashed', meaning they were there against their own will. But I felt like they were supposed to have gotten free already." He snorted. "Maybe it's wishful thinking. Maybe I just feel bad for them."

It was her turn to be confused again. "The Dolls?" she said, just to confirm it.

"Yes."

"They _were_ freed, by Cammy." She paused for a minute, and begrudgingly added, "And you helped her, a bit." He had, at least, gotten them out of the crumbling base instead of leaving them to die. So there was some shred of basic human decency in him.

"Cammy," he repeated. "That's our cat's name."

She laughed, unable to stop herself. She held a hand to her mouth, and shook her head. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to explain. "Sorry. That's just-if she knew that, I don't know if she'd be flattered or annoyed."

"Who?"

"Cammy White," she said. She cocked her head. "You know her. You're..." She kept herself from saying 'weirdly obsessed by her'. She couldn't call them friends, though. Cammy tolerated him, but Chun-Li thought it was more out of some misplaced sense of obligation. That maybe Cammy felt she owed him something for the fact that he hadn't left her to die in the wreckage of Shadaloo. Not exactly the healthiest way to start a friendship, Chun-Li thought. Cammy refused to reject him, dangerous as he was, and it was something that worried Chun-Li. That it might eventually put her in more danger, to stay in contact with him. "You saved her life," she said finally. It was the simplest, most straightforward way to put it.

He seemed utterly confused. "I don't even know who she is," he said.

Chun-Li stood up, searching through her phone. Still a little cautious of him, she approached warily, but held the screen out to face him. On it, there was a photo of Cammy. "You don't recognize her?"

He stared, and he didn't look confused so much as he did shocked. "No, I do," he said. His eyes flicked up to Chun-Li's. "Not-I mean-I-" He shook his head. "I've never seen her in person. I didn't even know if she really existed. I had dreams about her." She balked at that, imagining the kinds of dreams Vega might have about people. He seemed to notice her reaction, and he sighed. "Not like _that. _Just, you know, she's there. When it happened a few times, I was getting frustrated with it. I drew her, so I'd remember her if I ever saw her."

"What were the dreams about then?" she asked, jotting down the difference. That Cammy knew him one way, and didn't seem to know him the other.

"Just as random and weird as any dream might be." He shrugged. "But seeing her, I got the same feeling I did reading about Shadaloo. Like something should've been different, like she was important."

Some weird, warbling noise startled her before suddenly bursting into some chiming, upbeat electronic music. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the soft blue glow of a phone's screen as it lit up. Both of them glanced at it. He didn't seem nervous, which made her wonder if he realized who could be calling. It was too late in Spain for it to be anyone having to do with his work as a matador. She looked over at him, and he seemed curious. "Answer it," she said, handing it to him.

He did, and she strained her ears to hear, not wanting to miss any piece of the conversation. "Hello?" There was a pause as someone else spoke. "Ah...what?" he said into the phone and she had to suppress an irritated noise. He was going to make it obvious fairly fast to whoever he was speaking to that something was wrong with him. He wasn't even trying to pretend. "Did I do _what_?" She shook her head madly and he widened his eyes at her as if to ask what she wanted him to do about it. Suddenly his brows shot up and his hand went to his mouth. "_Puta mierda-!"_ He hung up quickly after that and she groaned.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"_P__or dios," _he muttered. "The guy from Shadaloo, Bison, why is he calling me, of all people?"

"You hung up on him?!" She covered her eyes with her hands briefly, trying to keep back the torrent of emotions that statement had threatened to let loose. If Bison had done something to change Vega, to make him so unaware of his position within Shadaloo, why would he be trying to contact him? No, Bison was definitely not the one who did this to him, so she could mark that possibility off the list. "What did he say to you?"

"Asking if I finished something, asking for a report, ah, ah, I think I'm going to throw up," he said, pacing and holding a hand to his head. "Terrorist dictator, calling me, my God-"

"Stop it," she said, his nervous behavior making her just as anxious. The phone rang again and he groaned loudly. "You have to pretend you know what he's talking about," she said, determined to figure this out. Bison obviously expected Vega to have some information ready for him, and he wasn't going to let up until he got it. It would be out of character for Vega to not respond to him, and she thought maybe they could lie their way through this. She knew a good deal of what he was supposed to be like, so could she coach him through a conversation with Bison? She bit her tongue. It was absurd, but what other option did they have?

"Yes, I'll lie to the guy who overthrew Thailand's government, I'm sure that will end well for me," he said.

"Overthrew..." she repeated, not following. Sure, Shadaloo was a pretty big threat, but it was not anywhere near powerful enough to topple a government. She shook her head, but quickly jotted it down onto the paper, leaving another question mark next to it. She could try to figure it out later, but with Bison calling him, there wasn't time to dissect the statement. "Look, pay attention." She waved him over to the bed, and sat down closer to him so as to better hear the conversation. "I'm going to tell you what to say. Put the phone on speaker and answer him."

He stared at her, and for a moment the only sound was the chiming of the phone. Finally, he drew in a breath and muttered, "Can't fucking believe I'm doing this." He ultimately did what she asked, and answered the phone.

Immediately, an authoritative voice could be heard. "I don't have time for any of your foolishness. Give me a report, now."

Vega's face went pale and she thought his eyes would fall right out of his face if he opened them any wider. She thought for a moment, trying to decide how he should react. He looked to her expectantly, but was plainly nervous about this conversation. She remembered the men who attacked him, and decided it was the best route. They could be enough of a problem that they'd distract Bison from the report he sought. "Tell him about the break in," she mouthed, nodding to the bathroom.

"Sorry, ah...Mister..." She let her eyes close. They were screwed. Bison wasn't going to fall for this, given Vega's uncertain, halting explanation.

"Don't apologize," she whispered. "You're arrogant, you're the best and you know it, get angry!"

He pressed his lips together, and shook his head. "Sorry that while _you _were screwing around doing whatever it is...dictators do, _I _was being threatened by angry men with guns, in my own hotel room, can you believe that?" She put a hand over her mouth, trying to keep a sigh from escaping. Close, but not quite Vega. How could he be so different? So unaware?

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

"Pay attention," Vega snapped, and for a moment, it was like catching a glimpse of who he was supposed to be. "I'm not going to repeat myself. You fix this, or I quit." She shook her head frantically. That may have been a step too far, even for Vega. "Or I don't quit!" he corrected quickly, eyes staying on her for the right cues. "But I'll be pretty upset!" It was over. He couldn't do this.

There was silence from Bison, and she thought maybe he'd hung up. But then there was a small chuckle. "Vega. What is it you do for me again?"

Vega's eyes flicked up to hers, the question plain. "Assassin," she mouthed. "Arrogant, remember!"

He made a face, like she was the one making it up as she went along. But he said it anyway. "I'm an assassin, your best, obviously, that's why I'm here right now."

"What's your partner's name?" Bison asked. Vega looked to her again for answers, but she didn't have one. She racked her brain for the information, but came up short. So far as she knew, Vega didn't have a partner. Was it a trick question? Could she risk that assumption? The few seconds of uncertainty were enough for Bison to grow more suspicious. "Tell me, what are you in New York for, specifically?"

She clenched her jaw. She didn't have an answer, and neither did he. She thought the news of the attack would have been enough to distract Bison from the subject of Vega's initial assignment. But Bison was observant, and he saw right through this act. "I hear the pizza is meant to be good," Vega answered, completely defeated.

"This would be amusing if it weren't such a problem," Bison said. "Stay where you are. I'll be sending an operative to retrieve you shortly."

"Ah, maybe, I'd rather-"

"And to whoever is there with you, make it known to them that they will pay for the headache they've caused me. I don't look forward to the time I'll be obligated to waste undoing whatever it is they've done to you." She felt like her stomach was tying itself in knots. How did he know Vega wasn't alone? She kept quiet, unwilling to volunteer her presence since he seemed unsure about who was here exactly. The line went dead, and Vega looked at her.

"Sorry. I guess I screwed that one up," he said.

"It's not anything either of us could lie our way through," she admitted. "If I were you, I'd get out of here as quickly as possible."

"What?"

"He seems to think someone else has messed with your head," she said. "I don't know what the deal is with you. I don't really care that much either. But I'm not getting in the middle of a pissing match between Bison, Juri, and whoever did this to you."

"No, you can't leave me alone," he said. "I don't understand what's happening. Come on, Chun-Li, please."

"It's not my problem," she insisted. She didn't owe him anything, regardless of whether or not he'd had some sudden change of heart. As an informant, he was completely useless to her now, since he seemed to know so little about his own work. The longer she was with him, the higher the risk. Bison had already figured out someone was trying to help him lie through that conversation, and she didn't like the idea of him thinking she was the one who'd messed up the brain of one of his highest ranking officials.

He groaned, muttered something in Spanish. "People want to kill me, to mess with my head," he said, completely terrified. "I don't even know why. I'm not-" He waved a hand. "This is all wrong, this isn't who I am, okay?" He looked at her, and she frowned.

"I guess this is why you shouldn't get involved with terrorists," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"I'm not!" he cried. "I never have been! I'm supposed to teach college students how to draw and paint and design and-" His fingers disappeared into his hair and he made another groaning noise. His knuckles went white as he pulled at his hair, his teeth were gritted and bared, and he kept pacing in circles. "You can't abandon me, please! One wants to brainwash me, the other wants to kill me!"

"Like you've killed people," she shot back, finding it a little difficult to muster up sympathy for a murderer. Even if he had some kind amnesia, he'd still ended numerous lives and was a dangerous person. Whatever had been done to him, there was the chance it could be undone, and he'd go back to how he was before.

"God, no, I've never killed anyone! Why won't you believe me?" The small waste bin made a thunking noise as his foot connected with it, and it toppled on its side. He'd been upset before, but had been more or less calm and complicit. She couldn't wait around and expect him to keep it that way. It was time to get away from him, before he got violent. "I'm sorry," he said as he inhaled a long breath and held up his hands. "Maybe I shouldn't have done that. I'm pretty upset right now, sorry. Just, can't you even give me advice?"

"What do you want me to tell you?" she said, annoyed that he suddenly made it her responsibility to look out for him. "Bison is going to find you, if Juri doesn't first. What he does with you when that happens, I can't tell you. Probably figure out how to make you your old self again. Something nobody really should want and-" She stopped suddenly, the error of her plan to abandon him to fate hitting her all at once. If Vega had really somehow been turned into a more or less normal person, did she want that to be undone? Could she let Bison take him back and turn him into a psychotic, but highly effective, murderer again? Or was it something bound to change back regardless of her actions? The stakes were high on both sides of the issue. To leave him and possibly avoid provoking a conflict with Bison meant returning one of his best weapons to him. To keep him from Bison meant possibly nullifying a major threat. But at what cost? How far would Bison go to get Vega back? She thought of Cammy, and how eventually he just gave up on trying to retake her. Would the same hold true for Vega? There was only one way to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

She hadn't decided yet if this was part of her work, or distracting her from it. The reason she'd been brought here was to help deal with some heightened criminal activity. Now she was wondering if it was all a fluke. Some ploy on S.I.N.'s part to draw Vega out here to kill him. It didn't really surprise her that Juri wanted him dead. She despised Shadaloo and all things related to it. Vega was probably just one of several targets. The last thing she'd expect would be for Chun-Li to be cooperating with him. At least, until her own assassins got back to her about why one of them was sitting in a jail cell in New York and their target was still alive.

One S.I.N. agent had been arrested, and stayed dead quiet about everything. Chun-Li requested that she be informed if that changed. It was typical of the Shadaloo/S.I.N. set. They had much more to fear from Bison than they did from any law enforcement. In a way, she was glad the man didn't have much to say. If he'd revealed why he'd been sent to kill Vega, then Chun-Li could seem like some accomplice for defending him. She knew that wasn't the case, but she had to admit it looked suspicious, especially since she didn't say a thing about Vega's work with Shadaloo. It was a risk, but one she felt compelled to take. His confusion was genuine, and she needed to figure out what had caused it, if it would be reversed, or if he could stay how he was. He seemed so averse to violence, being unable to even really throw a punch, let alone kill someone. If she could keep him that way, it might just benefit her in the long run, another step towards the dismantling of Shadaloo. A cleaner way to nullify him than letting him die, at least.

As far as the police report went, the break-in was suspected to be a part of a kidnapping. Probably to get him to pay his way to freedom, she remembered suggesting absent-mindedly. It felt so wrong to lie, especially for his sake. But leaving him in a jail cell would've been about the same as leaving him gift-wrapped on Juri or Bison's doorstep. He'd been advised to move to a different hotel. She remembered suggesting that the register not record his presence there for his own safety. She thought he'd ask where she was staying, had been ready to fight him tooth and nail on that front, but he left it alone, as per their earlier agreement. She'd help him, but only if he'd lay off on the 'I'm in love with you' thing.

Once that problem had been taken care of, she had to address the next one. Confirming with a third party that Vega's story, or his change in personality, seemed genuine. This wasn't the kind of talk she could have with just anybody. Other Interpol agents weren't aware of who Vega was really meant to be, and she couldn't afford to go around slandering someone like him without good evidence to back it up. But she had a few friends who knew the same things she did, and one of them happened to live close enough for it to not be an obstacle to meet with him. A quick call to Guile, and she had a meeting arranged. It was hard to be specific in the conversation. She hadn't mentioned Vega by name, afraid Guile would outright refuse to meet. So she'd just said she wanted him to help her with a cross-examination. It was the sort of thing a person wouldn't believe until they saw it with their own eyes. And she knew Guile was a bit on the stubborn and skeptical side. On the other hand, he also knew a thing or two about all of the bizarre, almost supernatural things that went on in Shadaloo that were treated like urban legends by the rest of the world. So his opinion on the matter would be particularly valuable to her, and maybe he could point out a flaw in Vega's story that she hadn't yet noticed.

A lot of her night had been consumed by that work. The rest of it was spent in a fitful sleep, vivid dreams waking her over and over. She was running, trying with all her might to avoid catastrophe after catastrophe. But the end result was clear. In the end, her resistance didn't matter. She didn't like giving up, though. Dreams were frustrating in that they seemed so silly to be afraid of the next day. But in the moments after waking, in the dark, alone, they seemed much more threatening.

Tired as she was, she forced herself awake at eight. On a Saturday. What a drag that was. She took a shower, and it was as agonizing experience as it'd ever been. Every time her eyes closed, she formed a picture in her head of someone ripping open the curtain and killing her. Maybe it would be with a gun. Maybe it'd be from sheer physical force. Maybe it'd be with a three-pronged claw mounted on someone's wrist. Showers used to be relaxing. Now they just made her feel vulnerable.

Even after leaving the steamy bathroom, she almost expected someone to be out there, waiting for her. Maybe Juri, sitting patiently on the bed, making a lewd comment before threatening her for interfering with her plans. Maybe Bison, swearing to kill her once and for all for time and time again having a hand in his ruin. Or maybe Vega, gone right back to his old self, mocking her for showing him any kind of mercy, because he wouldn't afford her the same favor. But no, of course none of that had happened. The room was empty. A comfort, in a way. She distracted herself from the paranoid thoughts, gathering her things for the day. There wasn't much. Double-check the phone was fully charged. Ensure she had a bit of cash in case of any emergencies. All of her cards and identification were in order. Her hand came to a stop over the stationary pad she taken with her back to her room. She ripped away the list of differences she'd written, folding it up and putting it in her pocket. Maybe she'd have to add to it, or reference it.

Something else caught her eye. On the page beneath her list, there was a little doodle. It was her, kicking someone in the gut. It looked closer to some kind of comic book page than anything particularly realistic, and she was depicted as... She squinted at it. What was that supposed to be, covering the top part of her face? It was like half of a mask, with pointy tips on top, and a cape flailing out haphazardly behind her. It looked vaguely familiar, but she was more concerned over whether or not he was mocking her or not to place it just yet. Her opponent's mouth was reduced to an 'o', a few lines acting as a rush of air from his lungs. It was one of the S.I.N. agents, she realized, and overhead it said something in Spanish: "_¡Soy la noche!_" Vega must've drawn it while waiting for her to finish up with her phone call to the police. She hadn't even noticed. She snorted, tried to memorize the Spanish. He'd better not have written anything crude about her. She wasn't going to cooperate with someone who was disparaging her. But then, what more could she expect out of Vega?

The assumption put her in a bit of a foul mood. She grabbed a cup of tea before leaving the building, hoping it'd make her feel better. It didn't. Who _would _be in a good mood if they had to face what she did today? Advising a murderer, one who'd threatened you personally, on how best to keep himself safe from _other _murderers. It was absurd. She tried to keep telling herself that it could be for the greater good in the long run. At the same time, it was a little unfair to all the people he'd killed. That he just got to walk away from any kind of repercussions because he couldn't remember them. Again, the comparison to Cammy wiggled its way in among her thoughts, and she sighed quietly to herself. Cammy was different, it was an entirely other bizarre issue. She deserved a shot at a clean slate. Vega had his, and he chose to throw it away.

The walk to his hotel wasn't as long as it could've been. A walk across the park, quite literally. That didn't make it any less cold. She exhaled through her nose, getting a little annoyed with her own attitude. It was hard to muster up positive feelings when she was going to meet with him. If it'd been a friend she was heading towards, not a guy who'd broken into her apartment and nearly left her bleeding to death, she would've been a bit more upbeat. She hated to be in a negative mood, though, and tried to think of him as work. Part of the job. A witness in need of relocation and advice, not the guy who laughed like he'd heard a great joke after locking her in a room that was quickly filling with toxic fumes. She closed her eyes briefly. Just a witness. Not Vega. Some other guy. Some guy who thought it made sense to smear an assailant's face with a cheese sandwich. Her lips twitched up at the image, and she opened her eyes again.

She was right on time. Punctuality was a trademark of hers, something her coworkers had even commented on. When it came to work, she liked to get things done, no dragging her feet. She'd looked up how long it took to take the walk across Central Park, west towards the Hudson, to his hotel. She'd left right on time, and got there right on time. He was supposed to meet her in the lobby at nine-thirty. So, after a few minutes of waiting, she glanced at her phone. Nine-thirty-six. A frown tugged at her lips. A few minutes more, and she began to pass the time by watching the people who entered and left the building. More were leaving than coming in. Sharply dressed businessmen. Professional looking women. The occasional family wandering out. A young couple. The usual suspects.

Another glance at her phone told her it was nine-forty-four. If he wanted her help so badly, couldn't he do her the courtesy of showing up on time? It felt like a waste, for her to be sitting here, doing basically nothing. She flipped through the headlines on her phone, thinking it might be awhile. For all she knew, maybe he'd gone back to his normal self and was halfway back to Barcelona by now. She couldn't decide if that would be a load off her mind or not. On the one hand, she'd be rid of him. On the other, she'd sacrifice a prime opportunity at arresting him. She'd been thinking about it, staring at the same paragraph on her phone for a minute or so, when a muffin suddenly came between her and the screen.

"_P__our tu, mademoiselle, parce que je suis tard, et un imbécile."_

She was only mildly startled, glancing up to see Vega was the one offering the food. Vega with shorter hair. She took the muffin, glanced around the lobby, and tossed it into the nearest trash can. "I don't speak French," she said flatly.

He raised his eyebrows a little, staring at the garbage can. "Oh. You did."

Another difference. She clicked her pen and dug out the page from her pocket to jot it down. "What did you do to your hair?" It wasn't bad. Still what would be considered 'long' on a guy, even if it didn't even reach his shoulders. But she wasn't about to compliment him. No reason to throw him a bone in that department. He might think too much of it. His hand went to his hair reflexively, and he seemed again almost embarrassed.

"I prefer longer hair, but two feet of it, it's a bit much. I thought I could cut it myself. 'Oh, how hard could it be'?" He shook his head. "As it turns out, it _is _hard. So I had to go somewhere to fix it. That's why I'm late." He looked back at the garbage one more time, and asked, "You don't like blueberries?"

"Not your blueberries," she muttered. She wasn't going to eat anything he offered her. He'd like to be able to mock her for eating out of his hands. "Let's get this over with." She still wouldn't trust him in a cab, so they walked the few blocks to pick up a rental car. She could turn the receipts in to be reimbursed by her work, so at least she wasn't paying to drive him around herself. It was cold and grey and she balled her hands up into fists in her coat pockets.

"We were here three years ago," he said, eyes seeming to be everywhere but forward and for some reason that annoyed her. Like he couldn't just keep still and pay attention to what was ahead of him.

"No, we weren't," she said sternly.

"Put it as one of the differences, then," he said with a shrug. "There was that place, ah, can't remember where exactly, but towards the river. That movie star guy you knew was all flustered when you told him you were dating me."

Movie star guy? "Fei Long?" she asked, squinting a little.

"Yeah!" Vega grinned. "You said you thought he'd always had a crush on you. I felt impressive, to win out over an actual celebrity."

She'd definitely take Fei Long over Vega any day of the week. Preferably, she'd be with neither. Fei Long had a cockiness of his own, though nothing that compared with Vega's. Fei Long had never asked her out, anyway, so it didn't matter. If he did have an interest in her, she'd never picked up on it, having only ever briefly spoken with him. She pulled the list and pen out of her pocket, and scribbled the differences down. Fei Long asking her out. He was crafting an elaborate alternate reality, so if it was a lie, surely it'd contradict itself sometime? "Well, you didn't," she said as she finished writing. "There is a list about 3.5 billion people long I'd date before you."

"Harsh," he said, but he was still smiling.

"Why do you think I know French?" she asked. A change of subject was desperately needed, and that point on her list stood out to her.

"You were living in France. Going to school there. So was I. It's how we met."

She didn't want to show any kind of shock to him. But it had been a dream of hers when she was younger to study abroad-didn't matter where, really, just to be able to see new parts of the world, and live like they did for a while. Then her father was killed, and all of her hopes and dreams were ground to dust under the weight of her new purpose. To make those who'd taken him from her pay. Maybe, at times, it passed the line from justice to vengeance. But either way, she couldn't give up until she'd settled the score. "That's what I wanted to do a long time ago," she admitted, though she didn't know why. Vega wasn't the one to kill her father-he would've been too young.

"Why didn't you?"

She almost snapped at him to shut him up. Maybe he was genuinely curious. Maybe he didn't know. But it felt like the world was mocking her in a way, having him ask her that question in such a curious and caring tone. She didn't want to satisfy it by responding. "Complications." The conversation was forced to an end when they reached their destination. She worked out the details with the clerk. Vega studied a map of the city pinned to the wall. Once she had everything she needed, they were off.

It was very awkward, sitting there with him. The silence was tense and strange, but putting on music seemed like it could end up being worse. Who knew what song might come on the radio? Last thing she needed to make this even more awkward was a love song playing. Finally, after sitting there fidgeting in every manner of way humanly possible, he seemed unable to take it anymore. "You make a good teacher, you know," he said. "You should try again. It's never too late to change directions."

"Stop it," she said, fixing her eyes forward. The drive wasn't a terribly long one, at least. They were on minute ten of fifty. She sighed quietly. Maybe it was longer than she remembered.

"Okay. I only mean, I don't want you to think you can't do it."

"You don't _want _anything for me," she said. It was going to get old really fast, correcting him all the time like this. Why wouldn't he just learn already? It wasn't his business what she did with her life. And he _would _want her to abandon her job in law enforcement. One less thing for the murderers and criminals of Shadaloo to be worried about. How pleased Bison would be with him if he'd convinced one of his biggest threats to quit her hunt for them. She gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter.

"Okay," he said, and God, wasn't he patient all of a sudden? It annoyed her, to be less composed than he was. Almost like he had some secret knowledge about how to deal with her when she was irritated. She thought of cats toying around with animals before killing them, and that's how she felt now. Like some mouse being played with. Batted around. Trapped, freed, trapped, freed.

"What was that drawing you made?" she asked abruptly. She had to interrupt her own thoughts, and it was something she'd meant to ask about earlier anyway.

"Hmm?" He drew his eyes from the window slowly, turning to face her.

"The picture you drew on the hotel stationary. It said 'soy la noche', and it was plainly me. So what was it?"

"Oh. I drew you sort of like Batman."

She made a short, sputtering sound with her lips. What was she supposed to say to that? "What is wrong with you, in your head?"

"What! You _ruined _those two guys. Give yourself some credit, you are _at least _on Batman's level."

"Shut up, shut up," she said. Vega didn't talk about _Batman. _He certainly didn't doodle her in a cape and a mask. He was too pretentious to find anything cheeky or fun to be anything but 'offensive to his sensibilites', she was sure of it. "Don't-You're-" She interrupted herself with a sort of half-groan, half-sigh.

"Fine," he said, holding up his hands. "I won't draw you as Batman ever again. A series of words I thought I'd never be saying, but life is so full of beautiful mysteries."

"God," she huffed. Minute twenty-two of fifty. The silence, she learned, was definitely preferable. Aside from the occasional tapping of his fingers, the rest of the ride was quiet. It was awkward at first, but it began to feel more like work eventually. She kept an eye on him, made sure she could always see his hands, that he wasn't up to something that could result in her death. When they finally made it to Guile's home, her stomach felt empty and her heart was beating a little faster. He probably wasn't going to take to well to the face that Vega was going to be standing at his front door. But she needed his input. Mentioning it was Vega would've gotten her nowhere with Guile, and he would tell her the same thing he always did when it came to him-find a way to make it look like an accident. She didn't know if Guile had ever killed someone, so she couldn't be sure if it was a real suggestion or a joke.

She inhaled deeply to calm her nerves before knocking on the door. Guile was expecting her, so she could be sure he'd be the one to answer. She heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the door before it opened, and he reacted pretty quickly. "Shit!" Guile cried immediately, grabbing Chun-Li by the arm and yanking her back while simultaneously grabbing Vega by the collar and slamming him against the side of the house. "Get in, Chun-Li, I've got him!"

"What-!" Vega managed to shout.

"No, hey, wait," she said, tugging on Guile's shirt sleeve. "This is the suspect I want you to help me with. He's all..." She waved a hand, unable to come up with a good word. "Changed, somehow."

"Are you making her say that, you son of a bitch?" Guile all but hissed into Vega's face.

Vega stared back. "I...what? I'm sorry," he said finally, head shaking slowly. "I can't remember what you asked me because all I can hear is my pulse in my ears."

Guile's brows drew together as he studied the other man. He glanced back at Chun-Li. "What's this about?" he asked her, still unwilling to let Vega go.

"There's something going on, and I just-" She stopped, putting a hand on Guile's wrist and trying to get him to let go of Vega. "I wanted some input from someone who's a bit more familiar with the weirder side of Shadaloo and company."

"We're _looking _at the weirder side of Shadaloo and company," he said, nodding at Vega.

"You know what I mean. The psycho power. The mind control. The kinds of things the other agents just don't really take seriously," she said. "I want another set of ears to hear it, so I know I'm not missing something blindingly obvious."

She saw Guile finally relax the muscles in his arm, though he still glared at Vega. "I don't like this asshole being anywhere near my home."

"I'm the asshole? You're the one still assaulting me," Vega put in, and she hadn't really seen him stick up for himself in any capacity since he'd barged back into her life.

"Thin ice, shithead. Microscopic." The words were spat through gritted teeth, and with one final shove, Guile let him go. "Only reason I haven't kicked your face in is her." He nodded back to Chun-Li. Vega rubbed his throat with one hand, and he was actually glaring back at Guile. She wondered, was that act crumbling? Was the ordeal over? But then she thought of all the things he knew about her, all the differences between the life he claimed he lived and the one she knew of. It wasn't just a matter of his personality, and she supposed, anyone would react to this situation like he was reacting. If she'd approached someone as big and intimidating as Guile, only to have them grab her by the throat and threaten her, she supposed she'd be upset too. Though, Guile had good reason to threaten Vega.

"Is there anybody around here who actually _likes _me?" Vega asked finally.

"Only people who don't know you," Guile said. Then he waved a finger back and forth. "Spread your arms and legs and put your hands on the door."

"What?"

"TSA style. Let's go," Guile said. She knew that tone. It was his business tone. The 'I take no shits, and for you, give none either' voice. It'd never been directed at her as long as she knew him. He'd always treated her more like a little sister-protective and begrudgingly affectionate.

Vega looked to her for confirmation. As if asking, 'is this really what we have to do next?' She nodded to him, and he muttered something in Spanish before placing his hands on Guile's front door. Chun-Li had to hope his neighbors weren't the nosy sort. She was pretty sure Vega didn't have any kind of weapon on him, but she was also certain that Guile wouldn't let him inside without personally checking. Even then, she wasn't confident he'd let Vega in. Her eyes flicked back and forth from Vega, who seemed to be unable to keep his gaze fixed on any one thing, and Guile, whose face was pretty unreadable and expressionless as he patted down Vega's limbs.

"Fine," Guile said finally, crossing his hands over his chest. Vega wasn't ready to look him in the eye just yet, and Chun-Li thought of dogs who showed their subservience by avoiding eye contact with the alpha male. "You go inside. You sit down in my office. You don't leave your seat. You get up for nothing and I mean _nothing_. I don't care if you have to piss. I don't care if you are bleeding to death. I don't care if God himself knocks on my door and asks you to answer it. You. Don't. Move. You don't talk to my family. You keep your mouth shut unless one of us addresses you. We do our little interview, and you leave. You forget you ever came here. And if I see you take a _step _in this neighborhood, I will put one clean between your eyes, are we clear?"

Even Chun-Li felt a little intimidated after a speech like that, even if it wasn't directed at her. "Jesus Christ," Vega muttered, staring at the man. "What did they do to you in Vietnam?"

"Press your luck, kid, go ahead." Guile clapped Vega on the shoulder once before heading back inside.

Chun-Li started in after him, but Vega didn't follow. She looked back at him. "Coming?" she asked sweetly, but only because she knew just how afraid he was.

"You're _friends _with this guy?"

"He's a teddy bear, really," she said.

"I think you meant _grizzly bear,_" he said, letting her tug him inside by his elbow. She knew the place well enough. When she was first released from the hospital, after nearly dying by Vega's hand, Guile and Julia had offered for her to stay with them. At first, she'd refused. It felt silly to impose on them like that. She didn't want to look like a child. She accepted the offer after spending a terrifying and sleepless night in her apartment, suspecting every little creak and crackle, seeing Vega's face every time she closed her eyes, hearing his taunts when she reached the edge of sleep. She felt safe in Guile and Julia's home. Guile, having been an old friend of her dad's, felt practically like family.

Now, she glanced over at Vega, different as he looked with that haircut and without any kind of pretension or arrogance in his eyes, and some awful feeling gnawed at her stomach. This murderer, this animal, had managed to find his way into such a safe place. She'd let him right in. She thought of stories about vampires who had to be invited into their victims' homes. What had she just brought into this house? Would she regret it by the end of this?


End file.
